


Bleak Manor

by PushTheButton



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bodily Fluids, Cannibalism, Cruelty, Cunnilingus, Dark, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Drama, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Execution, F/F, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Food Kink, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Prostitution, Gang Rape, Genital Mutilation, Gore, Hand Feeding, Humiliation, Hurt, M/M, Many disturbing scenes, Masochism, Masturbation, Multi, Murder, Mutilation, Object Insertion, Orgy, Public Humiliation, Rape, Sadism, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Tension, Slavery, Slow Burn, Spanking, Threesome, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 70,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8897227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PushTheButton/pseuds/PushTheButton
Summary: After Voldemort has risen to power, Draco finds himself in an uncomfortable situation."It was weakness that had made him choose her. And now he would suffer for it..."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and characters will be updated as the story proceeds.
> 
> WARNING: This story is explicit, in every single way. Please proceed with caution. It gets very, _very_ dark in here...

Draco blamed it on Ron Weasley’s execution. 

It had unsettled him. More than that. In fact, the whole thing had been so gruesome he had puked his guts out. Not at the time itself, of course. Only later, when they had gotten back to the Manor. It would have been very unwise to show such an emotion in front of the Dark Lord. After the Battle of Hogwarts and the death of Harry Potter, no one had seriously attempted to oppose him anymore. Lord Voldemort had risen to power, and it was clear he was going to stay there.

This meant progress for Draco’s family, of course. The part the Malfoys had played in the coup had been dubious, but the Dark Lord had been pleased in the end. Snape was gone, and the only one closer to Voldemort than they were, was Bellatrix Lestrange, sister to Draco’s mother. They were in the upper echelons of the new ruling class. 

His father was reveling in it all, eager to put the humiliations he had suffered behind him. But Draco wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about his new status. Mostly, he was just fearful. He had seen what Voldemort was capable of. And also what he himself had _not_ been capable of. When push came to shove, he hadn’t been able to cut the mustard. It was insufferable, this terrible weakness that dwelled within him. It crippled him. Made him unfit to thrive in this new world. He wasn’t sure how aware Voldemort was of his predicament, but he knew he had to get rid of it. And soon. Or his life could become very difficult in the future.

Doom’s Day had been a good example. Everyone had been asked to assemble at Hogwarts for an official celebration of the victory. Voldemort had specifically chosen this location, a previous nest of resistance, to affirm his rule unequivocally. It had been a gloomy day, that October 31st, but when the prisoners were led outside, they blinked against the daylight. Draco couldn’t help being shocked at seeing his old classmates again. They were in such a state that some of them were barely recognisable. After months in the Hogwarts dungeons, they had become mere shadows of themselves, their faces pale and fallen. Their spirit had been broken, just like their wands had.

‘These are the young ones that refused to join our ranks,’ Voldemort said, as the prisoners were led onto the stage. ‘Just like their parents, they are all mudbloods and blood-traitors. Unfit to live in our world, save to serve us.’ He smiled. ‘I have done all the experiments I need. I have extracted the information I want. So today, I share the spoils of our war with you, my faithful followers. Each household may choose one of these creatures, to do with as they please. A slave to kill, to torture, or just to keep in servitude until the day they die.’

An excited murmur went through the crowd. Draco saw Bellatrix jump up excitedly, like a deranged schoolgirl. His stomach cringed when he imagined what it must feel like standing up there, ready to be auctioned off.

Goyle nudged him with his elbow. ‘I know who I’m picking,’ he grinned. Draco followed his gaze and discovered Hermione Granger amongst the sad group of people. She was holding hands with Ron Weasley. She was in rags, her hair a tangle and her face filthy. Her exposed arms and legs showed fresh scars from the treatment she had been given over the last few months. But it was her eyes that struck Draco the most. The fear in them. He had never seen Granger so afraid. The knuckles on the hand that clasped Ron’s were pale from the force they were applying.

‘Who’s first?’ Voldemort began.

They started with the boys.

Dean Thomas was brought forward. He looked at his feet as several families bid on him. Voldemort chose the highest in rank, an elderly witch that seemed particularly pleased with her prize. She thanked the Dark Lord extensively as a collar was put around Dean’s neck and he was led off stage.

Seamus Finnigan was next. He went with Rookwood. Bellatrix gleefully took Neville Longbottom. Then it was George and Bill Weasley’s turn.

Draco had trouble keeping the look of revulsion from his face. He had seen a lot of public executions lately. He didn’t like them, but it was a good idea to be present if you wanted to keep in Voldemort’s good graces. All traitors and mudbloods over thirty had been pretty much been done away with in this manner. The Dark Lord didn’t allow anyone with too much power to live. It had been an ordeal to watch that, but in a way, Draco found this particular sight more difficult to witness. He couldn’t really say why. He had never liked any of these people. On the contrary. The only thing he shared with them was the place where they’d happened to spend their schoolyears. Yet seeing them dragged off by their collars like dogs filled him with a sense of shame. He felt awkward. Exposed, somehow. 

When the Carrows grabbed Ron Weasley, they had to pry his hand from Granger’s with force. The despair on the girl’s face was heartbreaking, and Draco’s discomfort grew. Next to him, he heard Goyle chuckle. ‘She’s definitely got passion, that Mudblood whore.’

‘Well then,’ said Voldemort, as Ron was presented to the crowd. ‘Who will have this one?’

When none raised their wands, the Dark Lord laughed.

‘No one? I can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t want to have _this_ in my house, either.’

The crowd jeered.

He turned to Ron. ‘See how useless you are without Potter, boy? You’re not deemed worthy to become a slave. No one is even interested enough to want to kill you.’

Ron averted his head.

‘What should we do with him, my Lord?’ Amycus Carrow asked. ‘Back to the dungeons?’

‘No,’ answered Voldemort. ‘I feel like putting on a show.’

Draco had tried to block what happened next out of his memory. But even now, weeks later, he woke up in a cold sweat some nights. The smell was the thing that haunted him the most. That unbearable mixture of urine, faeces and charred flesh, as Weasley’s bowels died before he did. It had lasted and lasted and lasted, until the screams made his ears ring. Some of the onlookers were cheering, and Bellatrix was laughing hysterically, tugging on Longbottom’s collar like a lunatic. Narcissa and Lucius stood frozen on the spot, rigid and motionless, while the spectacle dragged on. Draco had just tried to keep from looking at it directly. And not to vomit. Especially that. Not vomiting.

He couldn’t turn his head, that would have been too conspicuous. So he kept his eyes on the remaining prisoners. There were only girls left now. They huddled together, shrieking and screaming as their friend was being tortured to death only a few feet away. A strange sensation surged through Draco as he gazed upon Hermione. She stood there, head bent, eyes forcefully shut, her chest rising up and down. He could see her lips move. She was murmuring something. A phrase she repeated over and over. Praying for it to be over, no doubt.

When it finally was, Voldemort fed the corpse to Nagini, and then seamlessly ordered to start with the girls.

The bidding was much more frantic now. Especially Fleur Delacour and Cho Chang caused mayhem. Draco noticed that Goyle wasn’t bidding yet. He was eyeing Hermione hungrily, as was the wolf, Greyback.

‘Who do you want?’ Lucius asked.

Draco blinked as he looked at his father’s pale face.

‘We have to choose someone,’ Lucius urged his son on.

Draco’s anxiety surged. The execution of Ron had completely thrown him off balance. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt flushed, feverish almost. ‘You decide, father,’ he uttered.

But Lucius shook his head. ‘You may choose, Draco,’ he said, with an encouraging smile. ‘The Dark Lord will be pleased to see you take an interest.’

Behind him, Narcissa averted her eyes.

On the stage Cho Chang was just being led away, and now Hermione was brought forward. She had a hard time staying on her feet, an inch away from fainting after what she had just been forced to witness. Swaying, she stood between the Carrows.

‘Miss Mudblood herself!’ Bellatrix screeched. ‘Can we have two, my Lord? Can we?’

For a moment, it looked like Voldemort was considering this. But then he said: ‘One per house, Bella. We cannot have them communicating with or comforting each other.’

‘What if I kill this one right away?’ She flicked her wand and tugged Neville forward. Blood trickled from his collar down to his chest.

‘We have to be fair. One each,’ concluded Voldemort, and Bellatrix released Neville with a pout. ‘Now, who will have miss Granger, here?’

Several wands flew up and Draco realised the Goyle family was highest in rank. They would get her.

He blamed it on Ron’s execution. There was no other explanation.

He raised his wand in the air.

‘Prat!’ Goyle hissed at him.

On Draco’s other side, Lucius lifted an eyebrow. ‘Her? Are you sure? She’s a Mudblood.’ He pronounced the last word with open disgust.

Draco looked his father square in the eye. ‘I thought you said I could choose?’

Before Lucius could react, Voldemort spoke again.

‘Ah, Malfoy,’ he drawled, pleased. ‘Good choice, boy. Come up and claim your prize.’

‘Yay, Draco!’ Bellatrix cheered.

Draco felt his stomach sink. All eyes were on him as he somehow found the courage to walk up to the stage. He had to fight back the urge to throw up again. Amycus Carrow handed him the collar. ‘You have to put it on her yourself,’ he explained casually. ‘It will determine you as her master. If she disobeys you in any way, it’ll choke her. You can lead her with your wand.’

Draco felt dazed as he stood before Hermione, the open collar in his hands. When he stepped closer she looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen. She wasn’t crying. She simply hadn’t the strength anymore. She uttered a soft moan when he placed the collar around her neck. It closed with a click.

Draco flicked his wand and she followed him off the stage.

It was weakness that had made him choose her. Weakness after seeing what had happened to Ron. And now he would suffer for it...


	2. Chapter 2

It was… uncomfortable. 

That was the only word to describe it, really.

She didn’t say anything when they got back to the Manor, and he had no clue what to say to her. Or what to do with her, for that matter. The situation stirred up so many conflicting emotions inside of him, he didn’t want to be confronted by it. So he put her in the cellar with the house-elves and hoped he would have to see her as little as possible after that. That in time, he might even be able to forget she was there at all.

But it didn’t work out that way, of course. Hermione didn’t have the house-elves’ talent of doing her tasks unseen. And, more importantly, she wasn’t a house-elf. She was a person. Although you could easily be mistaken when you saw her stalking through the corridors. Still dressed in rags, skinny, filthy. 

One night during dinner, Narcissa couldn’t take it anymore.

‘Really, Draco. She positively _reeks_!’ She shot a disgusted look at Hermione, who was standing behind them with a jug of water in her hands. ‘How can you expect us to be served by her in such a state? It’s unsanitary!’

‘I dislike having a mudblood here in the first place,’ Lucius added. ‘Her presence taints the house.’

Draco sighed inwardly.

‘Your father is right, Draco,’ Narcissa berated him. She leaned in, laid her hand on his and said, in a more conciliatory tone: ‘Look, if you don’t want her, maybe it would be more humane to just… put her out of her misery?’

‘They should all be put down, if you ask me,’ Lucius nodded, sipping his wine.

‘Yes, thank you, dear,’ Narcissa broke him off. She addressed her son again. ‘Well, what do you think, Draco?’

Draco gritted his teeth. He looked at Granger. She was still standing there, eyes downcast, hands clutched around the jug. Two red spots burned on her cheeks. ‘Get yourself sorted out,’ he snapped.

She jerked into motion as if he had cracked a whip, and sped out of the hall.

It was the first direct command he had given her. And he knew he was now unequivocally her master. His attempt to have her blend into the household had failed. His parents wanted nothing from her. There was no denying it. She was his, and his alone.

‘Very well then,’ sighed Narcissa, as she watched Hermione go. ‘But try to take better care of your things in future, Draco.’

 

*

 

The next morning, when he was lying in the bathtub in his en suite, Draco got to thinking about that sentence from his mother. _Your things…_ That was what Granger was to him now. A plaything. A pet. 

It was a very strange sensation to have someone in your house you’d known half your life, someone you’d always belittled and looked down on but who had never the less shared your world as an equal, and who you now could do whatever you liked with.

The realisation was breathtaking. 

It opened up a whole range of possibilities, never considered before. He could make her bark like a dog. He could have her kissing his feet. Or other parts… He knew what his friends were doing with their slaves. Goyle was having a grand time with Luna Lovegood. He wouldn’t shut up about it. And Blaise Zabini got into all sorts of creativeness with Parvati Patil. She was very bendy, apparently.

But Parvati and Luna weren’t mudbloods. Doing such things with a mudblood was downright disgusting. Draco sighed and cursed himself again for choosing Granger, of all people. Why did he always have to make life more difficult for himself?

Images of Parvati and Luna flashed through his head, and he felt a familiar feeling stir in his underbelly. He slumped down, submerging deeper into the soapy water. He bit his lip and grabbed his cock. He needed to get some relief from all this stress, pronto.

But as he stroked himself, he got more and more frustrated. It just wasn’t happening. No matter how vigorously he had Luna and Parvati finger and lick each other, he couldn’t get the feeling to build. He couldn’t concentrate. His mind was elsewhere. With a frustrated grunt he stopped his endeavour, rinsed off and got out of the bath, feeling more wretched than ever. With a towel around his waist he walked into his bedroom to get dressed. But when he passed the window, he saw something that made him stop. 

There was a deer standing in the grounds right outside the Manor, its tawny coat a dash of warmth and colour against the bleak November landscape. Draco had never seen one so close to the house. It was probably feeling at ease because of the thick mist today. And from the ground floor it would indeed have been near invisible. But here he had a first class view on it. It was a female. She was in her prime, powerful and swift, with an elegant neck and legs that gave her a beautiful fragile look. Her big ears flopped left and right, on the lookout for possible dangers. And suddenly, she looked straight at him. Draco held his breath. Seconds ticked away as the dark, sensitive eyes of the doe rested on him. Then she turned around and disappeared in the mist.

He blinked. It was like waking up from a dream.

With a strange feeling in his stomach, Draco walked over to the bed. His clothes had been laid out, but he couldn’t find his wand anywhere. He had left it in the bathroom.

He decided to get that first, before dressing.

But when he opened the door, he realised he wasn’t alone. ‘What are you doing here?’ he spoke sharply.

Startled, Hermione jumped up. She had been sitting on the edge of the tub, moving her hand dreamily through the steaming water.

‘I… I came to clean the bath.’ Her voice was hoarse from using it too little.

He walked to the sink and grabbed his wand. Luckily, she hadn’t noticed it lying there. Or maybe she just couldn’t touch it, with that collar around her neck. 

He eyed her up and down. Her presence had startled him also, though he didn’t like to admit it. ‘Why haven’t you washed? I told you to get yourself sorted.’

She bowed her head. ‘Sorry. But I…’

‘Sorry who?’

‘Sorry, master.’

He felt an uncomfortable sensation pass through him. ‘I prefer it if you call me sir, allright?’

‘Sorry, sir.’

There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in her voice. It threw him a little. She seemed so unlike her usual self. ‘Look at me,’ he ordered.

Slowly, Hermione raised her head. It was difficult meeting her eyes. They were those of an injured animal. The life had gone out of them, and all that was left was pain and sorrow.

It touched him deeper than he had expected.

‘Why haven’t you washed?’ he repeated his question, hoping she wouldn’t notice the uneasiness in his voice.

‘I have been trying to, but the house-elves won’t let me near their basin, sir.’

‘And why is that?’

‘They don’t want to share with me, because… because I’m a mudblood, sir.’

He didn’t know what to say to that. He looked at her feet. Her toes were blue. Purple, almost, from walking barefoot on the cold stone floors of the Manor. The skin on her legs was covered with goose-bumps. She was shivering in the awful thin rags she was wearing. Behind her, the steam from the tub rose lazily towards the ceiling.

‘You may use the bath,’ he heard himself say.

A little light appeared in the depths of her brown eyes. ‘Sir?’

He shrugged. ‘Seems a shame to waste it while it’s still warm.’

She cast a wanting glance at the milky-white water, and a strange feeling welled up inside of him. He had never noticed how lovely the line of her neck was. How elegantly it connected with her jaw and then mellowed into curve of her cheek. He could clearly see her desire to get in the tub. How she craved the warmth, her skin probably tingling with expectation. 

Draco felt his breathing pick up. His heart was beating with slow, powerful beats now, throbbing against his ribs. There was something very intimate about the fact she would use the same water he just had. That a minute from now, she would be naked in there.

There was a moment of strained silence, while they stood opposite one another.

Then he whispered: ‘Well, get in.’

Fear crept into her eyes, as it slowly dawned on Hermione that he expected her to take her clothes off in front of him.

Draco’s stomach jolted. The realisation she was scared of him made him feel ridiculously powerful. It fed into the other sensation too. The one that had him wondering what her skin would feel like. 

Hermione hesitated. He could see her eyes getting moist as the collar slowly started to contract.

He inadvertently held his breath. In sympathy, almost. But he flicked his wand and repeated: ‘Get in. _Now_.’

Hermione coughed as the collar closed around her throat like an iron fist. She resisted the command a moment longer, gasping for breath. Then, with a glint of the old defiance in her eyes, she stepped into the tub fully clothed.

Draco lowered his wand, a violent heat creeping up his neck and cheeks. He didn’t know where to look. 

‘You may use the tub every time after I have,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll have the elves bring you clean clothes.’

Then he fled the room.

 

*

 

Draco lay flat on his back on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling. He was still breathing heavily. He could hear the sounds of running water coming from the next room. Underneath the towel, he was rock hard. He closed his eyes, and in an instant, he was back in the bathroom with her. 

She was sitting on the edge of the tub, just like before, only this time she was stark naked. Steam billowed around her, giving her a mysterious look. Her skin had the same creamy colour as the water in the tub. She was perfectly clean already, her hair full and soft, but still he commanded: ‘Wash yourself.’

Immediately, she turned sideways and dipped a cloth into the water. She bent down so deep he could see a glimpse of her cunt, squeezed tightly between her smooth thighs. Her nipples broke the surface of the water, and when she came back up, milky droplets ran from her nipples down to her belly and legs. She wrung out the cloth, but not enough, and it made a wet, slapping noise when she put it on her chest.

‘Look at me,’ he ordered.

She obeyed, looking directly at him, and then slowly started running the cloth over her breasts. She had great tits. Not very big, but a nice handful anyway, and of a lovely plump shape. Her nipples were pink and they blossomed like little rose-buds under the touch of the cloth. They rose up, all stiff and shiny, like he had just given them a good polish with his mouth. Her breasts were dripping wet too. He could vaguely see veins tracing underneath. So delicate and pure was her skin. She pushed her arms inwards, making her tits squeeze together, slippery and supple. The nipples were right next to each other now, pointing straight at him. Inviting him to take them both into his mouth at the same time. 

But he stayed where he was.

‘Go lower.’

She let the cloth trail the soft curve of her belly, all the way down towards the dark triangle between her legs. She wasn’t shaved. Only neatly trimmed, just the way he liked it. 

‘Push.’

She pressed down on the cloth and moaned when it released a gulp of warm water on her cunt. Her thighs glistened with all the wetness.

‘Open your legs,’ he ordered. ‘Keep looking at me.’

Without taking her eyes off him, she pulled her knees up and slowly spread her legs, giving him a full frontal on her pussy.

‘More water,’ he managed to utter.

She leaned back and dipped the cloth in the bathtub again. And this time she didn’t wring it out at all. Soaking wet she put it on her cunt, the slapping noise almost making him blow his top.

‘Now… clean yourself.’

With a sigh she started pleasuring herself with the cloth. She passed it along the inside of her thighs, between her butt cheeks, over her asshole and her lovely, pink cunt. Milky water dripped down from it onto the bathroom floor. Her legs were open wide, her clitoris a glistening red nodule. She licked her lips and panted desperately as he made her pass over it again and again. Her breasts jiggled to the rhythm she was rubbing herself with. She was clearly ashamed, but she couldn’t deny the way her body was reacting. She was getting a rosy hue all over. Her cheeks, the palms of her hands and her feet, her stiff nipples, the place where her ass pressed against the edge of the bathtub… He couldn’t keep his eyes off it all. She was so bountiful, so supple, so _ready_. 

But when she threw her head back and her moans became more high-pitched, he ordered her flatly to stop.

She flashed him an angry look, closed her legs and regained a more decent pose on the edge of the tub. Her chest was heaving, and she looked more than a little put out. 

With a superhuman effort he waited until she had calmed a bit. Then he kneeled down in front of her. He didn’t have to give her any commands anymore. Willingly, she let him push her knees apart. He looked at her cunt for a moment, letting the desire build. Then he slowly pushed his mouth against it. She let out a long, luxurious moan as he buried his face deeper into her and flicked out his tongue. Her pussy was perfect. Soft, supple, wet. Carefully, he started nipping and licking at the rosy flesh. She was delicious. He could run her up and down with his tongue all day. When he sucked her clit between his lips, she jolted, gasping in pleasure. He grabbed her thighs and pushed them upwards, positioning her legs over his shoulders. She lay completely open to him now, her cunt utterly defenseless. He slipped a finger in, then two, while he kept sucking on her clit. Groaning, she pulled his face closer. She was soaking wet, and not from the water. Her saltiness covered his mouth and chin and nose. He relished her taste, pumping his fingers up and down. He was dripping wet with precome himself. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He pulled back and she uttered a panicked yelp, pushing her hips upwards, desperate to find the pressure he had so brutally taken away from her. But instead of dropping his towel to the ground and just taking her, he got his wand out and turned it around. He put his thumb on her clit, and then slid his wand inside of her with the blunt side first. She was terribly tight, and even with all the wetness it was difficult to get it in completely. She squealed and grunted, straining to take it all. He tilted the wand upwards, searching for her G-spot. He knew he had found it when her legs started to quiver, her hips making riding movements on the wand. Smiling, he started making circular movements on her clit with his thumb, while he pulled the wand in and out of her with quick, short thrusts. The skin around her opening stuck to the surface of the wand a little bit, making her hole open and close like some sea-creature. He couldn’t stop looking at it. It was positively mesmerising. She whimpered while he continued to lay waste to her clit and her pussy. Her wetness increased and the wand moved ever easier. He knew she was about to come. Quickly, he looked up, not wanting to miss her expression when the moment was finally there. Above him, her tits heaved and bounced on the rhythm of his thrusts, slapping into each other with wet sounds. He drank in the look on her face as she begged: ‘Oh, yes. Please, sir! Please!!!’ She breathed in, her mouth formed a perfect O, and then, with an ecstatic scream, she squirted full in his face.

Draco uttered a long, strangled moan, as his sperm gushed over his hand, his stomach and the bed-spread. A thin layer of sweat covered his body and made his eyes sting. He swallowed, coughing, as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

In the bathroom, the noises had stopped.

She was gone.

And he realised he missed her already…


	3. Chapter 3

She looked better. 

Still skinny and frightfully pale, but at least she was clean. Her new uniform became her. He had chosen decent clothes. None of that spandex nonsense Goyle had Luna Lovegood wear in broad daylight. It was downright embarrassing when you visited their house. But then Goyle wouldn’t know class if it bit him in the arse. No, just a simple top with a round neck and a skirt cut right above the knee for Hermione. All in black, of course.

 _Just like one of the family_ , Draco thought, as he watched her dusting books on the other side of the library. He was sitting in front of the fireplace, his dinner jacket thrown over the back of the antique sofa, waiting for Pansy to arrive. He liked this room. The dark wood of the bookcases on the walls had a rich scent, as did the books themselves. He had never been much of a reader, except for the forbidden stuff of course. But he liked the smell.

 _She must miss it_ , he thought. Granger was the biggest bookworm ever. And now the closest she came to a book was by dusting it off.

_I could allow her to read in here. Just from time to time. No one would have to know…_

At that exact moment, she glanced back at him. He felt busted, like his thoughts had been overheard. Quickly, he hardened himself against his feelings. Toying with those kinds of idea’s was dangerous. He couldn’t give in. It was very sad what had happened to her, but that was none of his concern. Voldemort had given her to him. He was her master, she was his slave. That was the way the world worked now.

He felt compelled to give her some order or other, to fasten his resolve. He saw the flames reflect in his black, lacquered shoes, and an idea popped into his head. 

‘Come here,’ he said harshly.

She put down the duster and quietly walked over to him. 

‘I’m going out with Pansy later. As usual, the House-Elves did an awful job on my shoes. Shine them for me again.’

She nodded and turned around.

‘Where are you going?’

She halted, looking unsure. ‘To get the shoe-shine.’

‘No. I want you to do it the old-fashioned way.’

She frowned.

He lifted his eyebrows and said: ‘Use your spit, Granger.’

The expression on her face would have given his younger self much satisfaction. As a matter of fact, it still did a little now. When she got down on her knees in front of him, a warmth awoke in the pit of his stomach. And suddenly, he decided to go all out. ‘Get started,’ he urged her on. ‘I want to be able to see my face in them.’

‘I haven’t got a cloth.’

‘You’ve got hair on your head, don’t you?’

She looked at him like she couldn’t believe what he was asking for.

He could hardly believe it himself. It was totally twisted, of course, and he had invented it on the spot. But suddenly he found himself craving for it. 

The collar leaving her no choice, she bowed low. He watched as she paused a moment to gather enough saliva. Then she opened her mouth and let a big blob of drool drip onto his shoes. She glanced up at him again, to make sure he hadn’t by any chance changed his mind. He indicated she should go ahead. She swallowed and grabbed a handful of her thick locks. She twisted them around until they formed a sort of brush, and started polishing. With a content grin, Draco slumped back in the sofa. He could get used to this. The little spitting sounds she was making, the way her back moved back and forth as she rubbed his shoes… It was all strangely gratifying. 

The warmth in his belly started to spread. He gave her a vetting look. She was really quite pretty. But up close, it struck him again how thin she was. That was a shame. It didn’t look healthy anymore.

‘What exactly do the House-Elves feed you, down there in the cellar?’ he asked, his tone softer now.

She looked up, a thin strand of drool connecting the corner of her mouth with his right shoe. ‘Sta-‘ She gulped and wiped the excess saliva from her mouth. ‘Stale bread and water, sir. From time to time.’

No wonder her collarbones were sticking out. She was starving.

In an impulse, Draco waved his wand, and a pear lifted itself up from the fruit bowl. As it started floating towards her, its peel coming off in one big spiral, Hermione slowly, unconsciously, rose from her stooped position. Sitting upright on her knees now, she looked at the piece of fruit like it was manna sent down from heaven. Her eyes shifted from the pear to Draco and back, hopeful and wary at the same time.

Another wave of his wand cut the thing into four equal slices, top-down. It was perfectly ripe, its soft white flesh glistening in the light of the fire. When the sweet smell reached Hermione, her stomach let out a desperate growl. 

Draco let one of the slices float right in front of her, just out of her reach. ‘Do you want it?’ he whispered.

Hermione’s eyes were impossibly big in the firelight. In them, a look of pure lust. She gave him an eager nod.

‘Come closer.’

She obeyed without hesitation. Still on her knees, she got in between his legs. She was panting now, her lips slightly parted, almost drooling with hunger. Draco let the slice of pear hover towards her. He could see the soft, wet pink of her tongue as she opened her mouth further. But when she went to take a bite, he pulled the slice back and caught it between his fingers. 

She scowled at him with an almost feral quality. He had never seen such brutal, untamed beauty. It took his breath away. Her eyes fell on the pear again, and her expression went from anger to desire and then to complete, almost tearful desperation. She gave him a pleading look now, and he felt something tugging at him from the inside.

‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered, with a slight smile. ‘I’ll let you have it. But only if you’ll be a dear and give me a kiss first.’ He made sure not to formulate it as an order. He wanted her to do it because she decided to herself, not because she was forced to by the collar.

She seemed surprised by his request. She hesitated. He could see her brain working. 

He tapped his cheek in a paternal gesture.

She looked at the pear, and her pupils dilated. Quickly, as if she didn’t want to think about it too much, she bent forward and gave him the tiniest of kisses. Her lips were soft and light as a feather. When she got back into her kneeling position, a light blush covered her cheeks. This seemed to have embarrassed her more than having to shine his shoes with her hair.

Draco’s smile widened. He moved to the edge of the couch, the slice of pear still in his hand. A drop of juice ran down his wrist. He licked it off and rolled up his sleeves. Hermione could hardly restrain herself anymore. She leaned forward and grabbed his trousers at the knees, crumpling the fabric between her fists. Longingly, she opened her mouth. ‘Good girl,’ he whispered, as he pushed the fruit over her bottom lip. She closed her eyes and bit into the sweet, slippery flesh. ‘Mmmhhh,’ she breathed, and he could see a wave of satisfaction rise through her body. He looked on as she let the flesh dissolve in her mouth, relishing every aspect of its texture and taste. After months of dry bread, this had to be an explosion of sugar for her. She swallowed, and when she finally opened her eyes again, there was light in them. _Life_.

‘More?’ he whispered, his throat suddenly dry.

She nodded.

He fed her the rest of the slice. This time she ate it more quickly, really chewing. She swallowed and immediately begged for more. Draco pushed the next piece deeper into her mouth. She gulped, not having expected so much at once. Juice ran over lips and chin, covering them with a sticky coating. The wetness glistened in the firelight. The more she ate, the more her hunger seemed to grow. She all but sucked the next piece from his fingers. Her breathing became louder, more shameless. Like a starving animal that finally received its food. Gradually, almost without realising it, Draco moved closer towards her, drawn in by her rapture. She didn’t shy away. On the contrary. By the time he was holding the last slice, their faces were mere inches away from each other. She grabbed his fingers and pried them open, eating the last bit straight out of his hand. When the juice ran down his wrist and lower arm, she ducked low and licked it off, in one long, slow movement. A sigh escaped him as her wet tongue caressed his skin. She sighed too, continuing upwards and then proceeding to lick his palm clean. Somewhere along the way, Draco’s fingers ended up trailing the curve of her lips. They were soft and supple, smoothened by the pear juice. Her mouth was still slightly open. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He was weak, so weak. He held his breath and slowly pushed his thumb inside. Her tongue felt velvety and a little raspy. It sent a shiver up his spine. They looked into each other’s eyes. 

Then the warmth of her mouth slowly closed around his thumb.

But just when he thought she was going to start sucking on it, the door of the library opened.

Draco drew back with a jolt. Between his legs, Hermione looked around, her chin and mouth still covered in shiny stickiness. When she saw Narcissa standing there, she got up off her knees and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Discreetly, she moved to the side of the room, into the shadows.

‘Mother,’ Draco mumbled. ‘I was just—’ 

Well, what could he really say? He felt himself blush violently.

Narcissa refrained from looking straight at him. She lifted her chin and said: ‘I just wanted to tell you Pansy has arrived. In case you were interested.’

He cleared his throat, ignoring her remark. ‘Great. Send her in.’

Narcissa gave him a curt nod, and with a last dismissive look at Hermione, she left the room.

Draco barely had time to clean up his hands with a quick spell, before Pansy came barging in. 

‘Draco!’

He forced himself to get up, which wasn’t an easy feat, considering.

She walked over to him, in a shimmering satin dress of poison green, and flung her arms around him. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?’ she huffed.

‘Not at all…’

She pressed up closer to him and her dark eyes grew big when she felt how hard he was. ‘I can see you like my dress.’ She gave him a wicked smile. ‘Maybe we should just stay in, tonight?’

‘I’ve made dinner reservations.’

She shrugged. ‘We can be a little late. They wouldn’t dare to give _your_ table away.’

She was right, of course. And he could definitely use some relief right now. He noticed her plunging neckline. That _was_ a great dress. Pansy always knew how to play out her assets. His initial uneasiness died down and he relaxed a bit. ‘All right then.’ He snapped his fingers, causing Hermione to re-appear out of the shadows.

‘Bring us some champagne,’ he ordered, doing his best to sound as dry as possible.

‘Oh,’ laughed Pansy. ‘That’s right, you got Granger, didn’t you?’ She addressed Hermione. ‘Wait a minute, girl. Let me take a look at you.’

Hermione glanced at Draco. He nodded, indicating she should do what Pansy said.

‘My, she _does_ look awful,’ Pansy giggled, taking a little walk around Hermione. ‘All skin and bones. No wonder, after what happened to her boyfriend. I bet that ugly ginger is skin and bones too, now.’ She turned to Draco, laughing. ‘Do snakes take dumps, you think? Or is it more like an owl, and they vomit the left-over bits back out?’

Hermione turned a shade of pale. 

‘Go get the champagne,’ Draco repeated.

She fled the room.

Pansy pouted. ‘I wasn’t finished with her yet...’ 

‘I’m not waiting for my drink until you’re done with your little rant,’ he snapped.

‘Oh no, of course not,’ Pansy agreed quickly. ‘Sorry, baby.’ She leaned close and ran her fingers across his shirt, picking at the buttons playfully.

‘It’s all right. Don’t worry about it.’

They sat down on the sofa together.

‘I bet she’s not so high and mighty anymore now, though, our miss Mudblood,’ Pansy continued. ‘I bet you come down hard on her, don’t you, Draco?’ 

He shrugged noncommittally.

Pansy’s eyes lit up with a poisonous glint. ‘Do you use the Cruciatus curse on her? I can highly recommend it. I use it on our slave every morning after breakfast. Just to whip her into shape for the day. She’s some blood-traitor from the Ministry. My father picked her. Not nearly as satisfying as an old schoolmate, but he promised me I could choose the new one once she’s dead.’

Draco didn’t know what to say to that. He wished she would shut up and get on with it. But Pansy was in a talkative mood. As usual.

‘You’re _so_ good to me, Draco,’ she sighed dramatically. ‘Choosing Granger, I mean. You wouldn’t _believe_ how many boys are fooling around with their slave-girls. Even Blaise! You’d think he’d care about Daphne’s feelings a little more. I mean, they have been going out for almost six months now. Poor thing. Last time I saw her, she was in tears. She should break it off with him, if you ask me. But then Daphne is _so_ submissive when it comes to Blaise. I think she realises what everyone is saying behind her back, namely that she’s _way_ too ugly for him.’ She giggled for a moment, but when she looked into Draco’s eyes, she grew serious again. ‘But you’re not like that, are you, baby? Oh no, you go ahead and choose a _mudblood_! I mean, how sweet is that? I couldn’t believe it when I saw your wand go up on Doom’s Day.’

‘I thought only of you, darling,’ Draco drawled.

Pansy’s smile widened. ‘I knew you must’ve!’ She sighed again. ‘I’ve got the best boyfriend ever.’

‘Are you grateful?’ 

Her eyes flashed mischievously at him. ‘Terribly.’

‘Why don’t you show me, then.’

She smiled coyly and leaned forward, slowly pressing her lips against his. Her tongue flicked out, and he opened his mouth to welcome it. She smelled nice. The perfume he had given her last summer. She made a point of wearing it whenever they were together. She was a pretty decent girlfriend, all things considered. A little daft, and sometimes downright annoying, but she would do anything to please him. And her bloodline was immaculate…

He grabbed her tits and kneaded them through the fabric of her dress. She let out a long, slutty moan. Yes, she knew what he liked. His erection that had been dwindling from all that palaver, was now pushing against his pants again, straining to be set free. He grabbed her hand and rubbed it against it.

‘Oh, Draco…’ she sighed. ‘You’re _so_ hard.’

‘That’s from thinking about your sweet mouth, darling,’ he whispered. And he thought of Hermione’s mouth. Of her pink lips closing around the soft, wet flesh of the pear. He pushed Pansy’s shoulders down, and a moment later she was sitting between his legs, in the same position Hermione had been just a few minutes ago.

Pansy bit her lip as she zipped his pants down. She gasped when his cock emerged. He grinned. He could never get enough of that look of total awe she always gave it. That in itself made dating her worth it. ‘Suck me off,’ he breathed.

Obediently, she licked her lips and grabbed a firm hold of his cock. Her nail-polish was the same poison-green as her dress. She started near the base, with small, wet nips. Then, a little more tongue. She moved further down and snaked along his balls, making him shift in his seat. He leaned back, so she could reach them better. She rubbed her whole face into them, and he sighed, waving his wand to slide the straps of her dress down. She was blowing him topless now. God, how he loved her tits. So pale and full, with dark pink nipples that were exactly the same colour as her lips and pussy. She sucked one of his balls into her mouth. He moaned. ‘Oh, Pansy, yeah, that’s good…’ With a smile she let the ball pop back out and then proceeded to suck the other one in. Draco licked his lips, panting. ‘Go on…’ She moved her attention lower still, flicking her tongue against his asshole in a teasing fashion. He shook and cried out while she polished it until it was all slippery and wet. Then she moved upwards again, trailing her tongue and lips softly over his balls towards his shaft. He smiled. He loved the way she happily licked his dick up and down, relishing it like it was a popsicle. When she reached the head, he sucked his breath in through his teeth. He knew what was coming now. She toyed with it a bit first, giving little licks and kisses around it. His butt cheeks tightened, making his cock throb. It was pulsating towards her mouth, imploring her to let him in. Precome welled up from the opening. She ran her thumb over it, spreading the fluid all over the head until it was smooth and glossy. Then, giving him a long, slutty look, she sealed her lips around it. ‘Ohhhh….’ He closed his eyes with a frown. ‘Jesus, Pans!’

Pleased with herself, Pansy started to bob her head up and down. Her plump lips moved along his cock at a steady pace, her tongue skillfully swirling around it. Her saliva mixed with his precome, and it all became one slick, wet mess. He could see it dripping from the corner of her mouth, churned out by his cock. Meanwhile, her hand did excellent work tugging at his shaft. He panted on the pace of her movements, bucking his hips and shoving his cock upwards, trying to thrust it in deeper.

She was stooped down low over him now, ass high, tits moving in unison with the bobbing of her head. He wished he could see her from the back too…

He flicked his wand and the big mirror that was hanging over the fire-place floated down. She wanted to turn around to see what was happening, but he shoved her head back into place. ‘Keep going,’ he grunted.

She did what she was told, and he positioned the mirror so that he had an good view on everything. He saw himself in the sofa, Pansy on her knees between his legs, her ass moving back and forth rhythmically. It was a thing of beauty. Only that dress still was still covering too much in his opinion.

He pulled up his wand, slowly making the poison-green skirt ride upwards. He sighed with pleasure when he discovered she wasn’t wearing any panties. Her round, full ass was completely bare, and he could see her pussy, snugly tucked away between her butt cheeks. 

Meanwhile, she was still slurping away greedily, changing the pace now and again to keep him pleased. She looked up at him, and he couldn’t help smiling. Was there a prettier sight than a girl on her knees, tits and ass bare, and your cock filling up her mouth?

She was an expert, Pansy was. No one gave head like her.

_Except for, maybe…_

The bobbing of Pansy’s head, the movement of her back as she worked him… Suddenly, her eyes and hair weren’t black anymore, but of a warm brown. Oh yes, _Hermione’s_ eyes looking up at him that way… _Her_ innocent little mouth stretched around his cock… Sucking it, relishing it, drooling all over it…

Groaning, he grabbed a fistful of Pansy’s hair. ‘Hmpff,’ she breathed. He ignored her attempts at protest, and pulled her closer into him. She made a gagging sound, but she had no choice than to take him in deep. He dictated the pace now, keeping her head forcefully in place. She panted loudly, her chest heaving. She gulped again, her throat clearly at the limit of what it could give. He didn’t care. She liked it well enough, the little tart. In the mirror, he could see her cunt had gone all wet. It was a shame that he couldn’t be in two places at the same time. Her lips were tightly sealed around his shaft, almost all the way up to the balls, and the warm, curvy depths of her throat pressed against the head of his cock… No way was he going to pull out now.

It did seem cruel not to give her a little something too, though.

He thought of the fruit basket again. It was complete kink, and she would definitely say no if she had known what he was up to. But he had an inkling she was going to like this. And if she didn’t… well, tough luck.

He raised the biggest banana from the bowl, and petrified it so that it became smooth and hard like stone. Then he floated it towards Pansy’s pumping ass. She was completely unaware of the danger hovering behind her. When she felt it nuzzle between her cheeks, she started and tried to turn around again. But Draco held her head firm in place. ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ he grunted. ‘Trust me, you’re in for a treat.’

She frowned, but when he started pushing the make-shift dildo forwards, her face relaxed and she breathed out deeply around his cock. ‘Yes, that’s it,’ he whispered, his eyes locked on the image in the mirror. The banana was slowly spreading the lips of her pussy apart. Pansy shaved herself, and her rosy cunt opened like a flower before it.

‘Ohhhh,’ she moaned, closing her eyes, as the dildo drove itself in. Drool dripped from her mouth over her chin. Draco felt his balls tighten. He heightened the pace, humping Pansy’s face while the banana humped her pussy. She was completely filled up now, all the way to the brim. She did her best to follow his rhythm, sucking and pumping, while breathing in hard through her nostrils. The banana was moving more easily now. It was dripping wet. He pulled it all the way out and then plunged it back in. She grunted, and he repeated it again and again and again, until she was nearly wailing around his cock. With her free hand, she started rubbing his balls and he felt like he was going to explode. She was close too, almost in the process of climaxing, even. Draco closed his eyes. He focused on the feeling. The wetness, the suction, the moans and just the sheer decadence of it all. He felt it build. Felt it rise up inside of him like a wave. Somewhere below, Pansy let out a muffled, high-pitched scream, as her cunt contracted around the banana. Draco opened his eyes…

…and saw Hermione standing behind him in the mirror, clutching a tray with two glasses of champagne. They looked each other in the eye, and he came harder than he ever had in his life. 

‘Mmmmmh,’ Pansy sighed, while he coated the back of her throat with thick, powerful squirts of semen.

Without breaking the eye-contact with Hermione, Draco breathed out hard, almost whimpering, while the aftershocks ran through his body. When he was done, he let go of Pansy’s hair. She slowly pulled her mouth off him, slurping at his cock one last time to get every drop of his sperm inside her mouth.

She swallowed pointedly and licked her lips clean. ‘Mmmmh,’ she sighed again, running her hands over her breasts and then through her hair. ‘Oh, babe, that was _great_.’ 

Her eyes opened lazily, still heavy-lidded from the orgasm. Only then did she notice Hermione standing there. 

Pansy let out a stifling scream. The banana fell from her pussy onto the carpet with a heavy thud. She flushed, frantically trying to cover herself up, pulling her dress down and the straps up around her shoulders at the same time. 

_‘Freak!!!’_ she screamed, as she stumbled to her feet. ‘You filthy, peeping, perverted _whore_!’ She lunged forward over the sofa, and gave Hermione a violent push. 

Hermione fell, the champagne glasses breaking around her. 

_‘Cruc-’_

Draco grabbed Pansy’s arm and she stopped mid-curse, her wand in the air. She frowned, looking from her boyfriend to the terrified girl crouching down on the floor. ‘Draco, _punish_ her!’ she yelled, in a tone like she couldn’t believe he wasn’t already doing so.

Draco gritted his teeth. He looked at Hermione, on her knees between the shards of glass, head hung low.

‘Get up,’ he ordered.

She did what he asked. He noticed she had cut herself. Blood dripped down from her right hand, and she had a few scrapes on her legs too.

‘You’re going to get it now,’ Pansy spat, her chest heaving. ‘Believe you me!’

Draco said nothing. He waited until Hermione was standing in front of him. Her head was still bowed down.

‘Look at me.’

She obeyed. He didn’t know what he read in the depths of those doe-like eyes. But he knew he could have stared into them all night.

‘Well,’ he said sternly. ‘What have you to say for yourself?’

‘I-I had to bring the champagne over, sir. I couldn’t ignore your orders.’

‘She’s lying,’ Pansy interjected, sensing something passing between Draco and Hermione. ‘She could’ve just as easily waited to come in. Or at least have knocked!’

Hermione gave Draco a pleading look. And he felt something go so tender, so unbearably soft, deep inside of him. All he wanted to do was take her injured hand in his and kiss it. Unfortunately, there were socially accepted ways to handle your slaves, and then there weren’t. He couldn’t let her off without a punishment. Not with Pansy watching.

‘Step closer.’

She did what he asked. 

He slapped her sharply across the face with the back of his hand. Her head jerked sideways, the bushy hair flying. She breathed in sharply, needing all of her will power not to cry out in pain. 

The violence of the blow awakened something inside of Draco that was almost more intense than the orgasm he had just experienced. He had never struck a woman before. It made him feel powerful and loathsome at the same time. Like he was king of the world and the scum of the earth all at once.

‘Next time, knock before you enter,’ he whispered.

Then he offered his arm to the smirking Pansy, and they disapparated.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning he ordered a full English breakfast. A certain melancholy struck him when he heard the timid knock on his bedroom door. She learned quickly…

‘Come in.’

Hermione appeared with a tray of food in her hands. She hesitated when she saw him standing by the window.

‘Put it here, on the little table,’ he motioned.

She walked over to him and put the tray down. He glanced at her cheek. Was it a little swollen, or was he just imagining things?

‘Pour the tea, please.’

Carefully, she lifted the heavy pot. There was a handkerchief tied around her injured hand, but she was still able to use it. She filled the cup. The tea was strong, almost as black as coffee. It smelled lovely. She put a drop of milk in it, just the way he liked it, and handed him the cup and saucer.

‘Thank you.’

She gave him a wary look. Her cheek _was_ swollen. Had he really hit her that hard? 

_Yes…_

The memory sent a not entirely unpleasurable vibration through his body. He motioned at the tray. ‘Now it’s here, I realise I’m not that hungry after all.’ He had been aware of that before he sent for the food. He never had breakfast. The only thing he could keep down in the morning was tea. ‘What a shame you had to bring it all the way up here.’

He couldn’t help enjoy the dark look she shot him. Nor the way it evaporated, when he said: ‘I guess you better eat it, then.’

For a moment, she seemed unable to move.

‘Go ahead,’ he urged her on. ‘Sit down. Eat.’

That was all the encouragement she needed. She popped into the armchair and dug in, ravenous. Draco sat on the windowsill and drank his tea while he watched her eat. It was a thing of beauty. Such passion. It lifted his sprits just seeing her enjoying herself this much.

She finished the plate in no time. 

‘Good?’ he asked.

She nodded and then sent him a smile so broad and genuine, he almost smiled back. He had to turn his head and pretend to look outside, lest she would notice.

In the garden, the doe disappeared into the shrubs. 

Draco stifled a sigh.

God, what was he doing?

 

*

 

But the next day, he did exactly the same. Again a full English, again sitting and watching as she ate. The food seemed to have done her good. There was colour in her cheeks again. In fact, her entire face looked a little flushed. Yet strangely enough, her appetite had greatly diminished. She struggled to finish. 

‘Didn’t you like it?’ he inquired.

‘Oh yes, very much, sir,’ she spoke. But there was a certain languidness in her voice that didn’t entirely match what she was saying.

‘Maybe you would like something else tomorrow?’ he suggested.

She shrugged.

‘A scone? Or a muffin or something?’

‘A muffin is fine, sir.’

‘Okay then. You order that for me tomorrow.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

As she started collecting the empty breakfast things, Draco considered her for a moment. Her behaviour was so unlike that of the Hermione Granger he had known at Hogwarts. She hadn’t given him any sign she was angry or offended about being backhanded the other day. He wondered how much of her personality was still there, beneath the veil of slavery…

She picked up the tray. It seemed heavy, her hands were trembling a little. A stray lock of hair fell in front of her eyes. And before he realised what he was doing, Draco leaned forward and brushed it behind her ear. It was an impulse, but now it was too late. She froze under his touch, her brown eyes burning with a strange glow. Draco felt a familiar heat spread from the pit of his stomach.

‘Tell me,’ he said, his hand lingering on her cheek. ‘Were you…’

_…aroused…_

‘…shocked, by what you saw when you walked in on Pansy and me?’

She didn’t answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her eyes were cast down: ‘After a stay in the Hogwarts dungeons, one isn’t so easily shocked anymore, sir.’

Her skin felt velvety smooth under his fingers. Like a peach. ‘What did they do to you there?’ he whispered.

She shrugged, unable to find the words.

‘Cruciatus?’

She nodded.

‘Other things?’

She nodded again.

‘Were you… abused?’ Suddenly, his heart was pounding in his chest.

She looked up at him again. ‘No. Voldemort didn’t care for any of that. He… he had other pastimes for us.’

Draco read the sorrow on her face. The back of his hand was softly caressing her cheekbone now. The exact same spot he had struck her. 

‘Did it hurt?’ he whispered. It wasn’t entirely clear to him if he meant the blow he had dealt her, or the things Voldemort and his followers had done to her. 

‘Yes,’ she breathed. Her answer was equally ambiguous.

‘Does this hurt?’

She leant into his caress, closing her eyes in spite of herself. ‘No….’

He noticed her brow was a little sweaty. She looked almost feverish. 

‘You- you understand why I had to punish you, right, Hermione?’ It felt strange to call her by her given name. 

‘Don’t worry about it, sir.’

He frowned. No, she got it wrong. He wasn’t apologising… was he?

He opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come out.

‘It was better than the alternative, anyway,’ she continued, almost dreamily. Then she looked straight at him, and said: ‘Besides, I would have expected nothing else from you, _sir_.’

He blinked. Was there a sneer in that last sentence?

And just like that, the moment was gone. She withdrew from his touch. ‘Have a nice day, sir,’ she concluded. Then she turned around and left him standing there, like an idiot.

 

*

 

It bothered him the whole day. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced her remark had been intended as a criticism. It infuriated him. Who did she think she was? He was good to her. He let her wash herself in his bathroom, he had given her nice clothes to wear, he even shared his fucking food with her! And she had the audacity to call him out on something he had only done to protect her from worse? Didn’t she realise he’d had no choice? The ungrateful little cunt! He was _her_ master, not the other way around.

 _This is what happens when you are too soft-hearted_ , he thought begrudgingly. _People can’t wait to take advantage of you._

He decided to have a word with her. She needed to be put in her place. Maybe Pansy’s approach was not so shabby after all. You couldn’t let these people take liberties. Otherwise, where would it all end?

He headed for his father’s study. He wasn’t really allowed to use it, but Lucius was at his gentlemen’s club today, and Draco felt the stern study would be a fitting décor to give Hermione a proper telling off. He imagined himself sitting in the leather chair, hands solemnly folded on the desk while he berated her. She would stand on the other side, head bent low, awed by all this grandeur. It would be perfect…

‘Granger!’ he called out, and he waved his wand. The collar would give her a sign she was wanted, no matter where she was in the house. 

But she was closer than expected.

Draco passed his mother’s bathroom, just as Hermione came hurrying out. She started visibly.

‘What were you doing in there?’ he frowned.

‘I- I was cleaning, sir.’

His frown deepened. She looked guilty as sin. Her eyes darted from side to side, and her brow was covered in sweat. ‘You’re lying,’ he stated coldly. ‘What do you have there, behind your back?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

He held out his hand. ‘Give it to me.’

She recoiled, shoulders tense.

Draco didn’t wait for the collar to start contracting. ‘Give it here, you little thief.’ He turned her around, and pried it out of her fist.

‘Oh.’

He felt his face go red. 

‘Where else am I supposed to get them from, _sir_?’ she said. With that same awful emphasis on “sir” as before.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t realise-’ He decided it was probably best to stop talking altogether. Awkwardly, he handed the tampons back to her.

She put them in her pocket, out of sight. ‘You called for me?’ she inquired. The “sir” was simply gone now.

‘Uhm, yes, well,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s not that important, really.’

She stared at him with a dull expression on her face. Apart from her burning red cheeks, she was uncommonly pale.

For a terrifying moment they stood opposite one another, and he had no idea what to say. It was like his mind had gone completely blank.

‘May I go then, sir?’ she helped him out. 

He gave her a curt nod, and a huge relief washed over him when she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. He gritted his teeth. He had wanted to make a point, but nothing had gone according to plan. What was it about her that always succeeded in unsettling him so? Why couldn’t he just make her do what he wanted, without any further thought?

 _I need to get my mind off things_ , he thought. _Before I drive myself mad._

At that exact moment, an owl came swooping in through the window. Draco immediately recognised Blaise’s pearly grey. He grinned when he read the note. 

Yes, some fun with the boys. That was just what he needed right now.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaise lived in an enormous penthouse apartment in the center of London, with a spectacular view over the city. It belonged to his mother, but she was never there. Always traveling with some lover or other. The apartment had cost a fortune and was completely invisible to Muggles, obviously. Still, Draco thought it strange one would choose to live so close to them.

 _Zabini is new money, of course_ , he contemplated, as he looked at the rabble trailing through the twilit streets below. _Goes to show you always can tell._

‘Don’t you mind being amongst Muggles all the time?’ he asked, when Blaise came and stood beside him.

Blaise gave him a half smile. ‘We love watching them as they scurry around down there like ants, ready to be squashed, oblivious to the danger that’s looming from above.’

Draco frowned. Not because of what Blaise had said. The explanation itself seemed perfectly reasonable to him. But the way Blaise had said it, though. “We” love watching them… Was he planning to propose to Daphne? Draco had no idea those two had gotten so close so fast. Especially with the things Pansy had told him regarding the whole Parvati-situation. 

_Maybe Blaise’s finally started using the royal plural when referring to himself_ , Draco thought cynically. It wouldn’t come as a surprise. Blaise was one of the haughtiest people Draco knew. And that was saying a lot. 

A loud crack alerted them of Goyle’s arrival. Draco and Blaise turned towards the fireplace. 

‘Tell your Parvati to do a better job cleaning,’ Goyle grouched, dusting himself off. ‘Your hearth is fucking filthy.’

‘That’s not exactly one of Parvati’s tasks,’ Blaise answered, with a slight smile on his face. ‘You should’ve just apparated here, like Draco did.’

‘I thought that was “not done”?’ Goyle frowned. ‘When you come in to someone’s private home, I mean.’

‘It’s perfectly fine when you’ve got an invite, you ignoramus,’ Draco scoffed. ‘Besides, no one would expect any manners from you anyway.’

‘Fuck you, Malfoy.’

‘Likewise.’

They grinned and slapped each other on the back.

The three of them slouched into the couches. Blaise took the big one in the middle, Draco and Goyle a standalone on either side.

‘Where is Parvati, anyway?’ asked Goyle, looking around. 

‘She’s getting the booze,’ Blaise yawned.

Goyle gave an eager grin. ‘Sweet. What about the other stuff?’

Draco got a small packet from his jacket and threw it down on the coffee table. ‘I let the potion boil for a shorter amount of time before turning it into a powder, this time, but on a higher temperature.’

‘Stronger, then?’ Blaise asked.

Draco smirked. ‘It has a kick like a mule.’

Goyle rubbed his hands. ‘Come on! Let’s try some.’

Draco took out his wand and sublimated three portions of the powder so that it became airborne. A little silvery cloud drifted towards each of them. All that was left to do, was to inhale. The three of them simultaneously took a deep breath. The effect was instantaneous. Draco’s breathing was cut off. A green light flashed in front of his eyes. Then black. Then green again. The sensation penetrated every nerve, every cell of his body.

‘Whoa! Fuck _me_!’ Goyle chortled. ‘It feels like getting the Killing Curse!’

‘Yeah,’ Blaise huffed. ‘Avada Kedavra in a good way.’

Draco held his breath, clinging on to the feeling for as long as he could. The rush ebbed away slowly, a process that had him exhaling with constrained little puffs. When the sensation had died down enough to be bearable, he blew the rest of the air from his lungs in one big go. He was left with a comfortable buzzing sensation all throughout his body.

His friends were coming down as well.

Blaise whistled. ‘Jeez, that was intense!’

‘Insane,’ Goyle coughed, his porky face all blotchy from the trip.

‘Wait till you try it with booze,’ Draco grinned, slumping deeper into the couch.

Goyle’s face screwed up. ‘What’s taking Parvati so long?’ he complained.

As if she had heard him, the door opened and Parvati came walking in.

For a moment, Draco thought he had made a mistake in the formula. The powder wasn’t supposed to conjure up hallucinations. But then he realised that what he was seeing was real. Parvati was beautifully clothed in a slinky designer dress that was a lot fancier than anything Daphne or even Pansy usually wore. She was adorned with the finest jewellery. And… she was holding a wand.

‘Hello, boys,’ she greeted them, as she sat down on the couch next to Blaise. 

‘Welcome, princess.’ Blaise gave her a slow kiss on the hand.

‘Hey, daddy.’ Parvati leaned in and gave Blaise a luxurious lick across the lips. Then she nestled herself in his embrace, his arm snug around her shoulders. With a nonchalant swish of her wand, a variety of liquor bottles appeared clanking on the coffee table.

‘What the fuck’s this?’ Draco snapped at Blaise. ‘Are you mad? Why is she armed?!’

Blaise put his head in his neck and laughed haughtily. ‘Armed? Please!’

‘You can’t give a wand to a slave,’ Draco continued in an offended tone. ‘Who knows what she might do! Where is her collar?’

‘Right here,’ said Blaise. He tugged at the diamond choker Parvati was wearing. ‘I decided to turn it into something more appealing for her.’

‘You spoil me, daddy,’ Parvati cooed. They gave each other a sweet little kiss.

Draco couldn’t believe it. What the hell was going on?

‘What’s the matter, Draco?’ Blaise scoffed. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘It’s just, I don’t understand…’

Parvati raised her eyebrows, in that same lofty manner Blaise always wielded. ‘It’s not that complicated, really. Blaise and I are in love.’

Goyle sniggered like a buffoon.

‘In _love_?’ Draco spat.

‘Yes,’ snorted Blaise. ‘Is that so unbelievable?’

And with a shock, Draco realised the “we” Blaise had been talking about before, was him and Parvati. He frowned. He didn’t know if it was because of the drugs or not, but this whole thing had thrown him completely off balance. He gave Parvati a vetting look. She was groomed to perfection. Her make-up was immaculate, with a smoky eye and glossy lips, and her hair had been freshly cut so that it fell thick and shiny on her shoulders. She had always been a pretty girl, albeit a little on the arrogant side. But that was right up Blaise’s ally, of course. It was clear he was smitten with her. Up to that point, Draco could still relate. But _her_. Why would she fall for her jailor? The person that had fucked her in every position imaginable, if you could believe Blaise. That didn’t make any sense at all! And yet here they were sitting, right in front of him, like boyfriend and girlfriend.

Goyle was already bored again. ‘Are we gonna have drinks, or what?’

‘Will you serve us, princess?’ Blaise asked.

‘With pleasure.’ Parvati looked around the circle. ‘What are you all having?’

‘Vodka,’ Goyle answered immediately. ‘Straight up.’

‘And you?’Her almond shaped eyes rested on Draco. 

He sighed. ‘I’ll have a scotch. On the rocks.’

Thanks to her wand, it was all prepared in no time. Parvati didn’t even need to ask Blaise what he wanted. The both of them were having champagne, of course. The lovers’ drink…

‘So…’ Draco inquired, twirling the whisky around in his glass so the ice cubes clinked. ‘How did… _this_ come about, then?’ He couldn’t bear to put it into words.

Blaise shrugged. ‘I fucked her until she loved me.’

‘You sure did, daddy.’ Parvati shot him a look so sultry it almost gave Draco butterflies himself. She and Blaise kissed, their tongues slowly feeling their way along the arch of one another’s lips.

Goyle was looking on with glassy eyes. For a moment, the drink in his hand was forgotten.

Draco scowled. He took a sip from his whisky but then decided to down it in one. The liquor burned in his throat, matching the feeling in his stomach. The buzzing sensation intensified. Blaise’s comment rang through his head.

_I fucked her until she loved me…_

Lucky bastard.

‘What does Daphne have to say about all this?’ he asked coldly, as he filled his glass again. A double, this time.

‘All great men have a steady mistress,’ Blaise answered in a conversational tone, while Parvati nipped at his earlobe. ‘Daphne realises that. She is perfectly fine with it.’ 

‘Lucky bastard!’ Goyle voiced Draco’s thoughts.

Blaise smiled like a cat. ‘She hasn’t got a choice, really. Not if she wants to stay my girlfriend, anyway. Me and Parvati are a packaged deal.’ He pecked little kisses along Parvati’s neck. ‘All of us had some fun together, too.’ 

‘What, the three of you?’ Draco frowned.

‘Mh-hm,’ sighed Parvati, tilting her head back.

Draco felt his cock twitch. An image of Pansy and Hermione together in bed with him flashed before his eyes. God, if only…

‘Lucky fuck!’ Goyle made a variation on the theme. He was on his third vodka. Normally not a problem for Goyle, but the combination with the powder had him struggling. He was already slurring his words a little.

‘Don’t be jealous, lads,’ Blaise smirked. ‘I’m sure you’ve been having all kinds of fun of your own.’

Goyle grinned. ‘That’s true!’ he burped. ‘Our Luna is a real trooper. My dad and my brothers all agree. She has this certain way of looking up at you while she’s sucking you off… Jesus! I blow my top every single time.’

Draco sighed inwardly. God, not one of those Luna stories again! ‘Yes we know, Goyle,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve only told us about a thousand times.’

Goyle gave him a foul look. ‘Oh yeah? Well, if I bore you so, why don’t _you_ tell us about your dealings with Granger, for a change.’

‘Quite right,’ said Blaise. ‘You hardly ever talk about her. Is she not living up to expectations?’

Draco shrugged, taking another sip from his whisky. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘Come on!’

‘I mean it.’

Blaise scooted forward, elbows on his knees. ‘You’re telling me you’ve done nothing with her, not one little thing, all this time she’s been living in your house?’

‘Nope.’

Goyle grimaced. ‘Jesus, Malfoy. You’re not a fag, are you?’

‘God, _shut up_ , Goyle!’ Draco sighed.

‘Well, what is it then? _I_ would’ve shown her every corner of the bedroom by now.’

Draco pulled a face. ‘Don’t be vile, Goyle. She’s a mudblood.’

‘So? You have to fuck her, not marry her.’

Draco blinked. He was at a loss for words.

‘You know, Draco,’ said Goyle, suddenly dead serious. ‘If you’re really that unhappy with her, I’d be more than willing to make a trade. Your Granger for our Luna. Like I told you, Luna’s a real trooper. Think about it. A nice little blonde. And a pure-blood, too.’

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘No,’ he answered, in as steady a tone as he could muster. 

‘No?’ Blaise raised his eyebrows. ‘Pff! You’re so fucking her! You’re just too much of a prick to admit it.’

‘I’m serious!’ Draco burst out. ‘I haven’t laid a hand on her.’ Although technically, that last bit was not entirely true, of course.

‘Then why won’t you trade with Goyle?’ Blaise frowned.

They were all looking at him now: Goyle, Blaise and Parvati alike.

Draco quickly tried to come up with something plausible. ‘I don’t care for Luna. Her tits are too small.’ It was a lie. He liked tits in all shapes and sizes, even the itty bitty ones. But he thought it’d be something Goyle would be able to relate to.

He was more right than he could’ve imagined.

‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Goyle said. ‘I used an Engorgio spell on them. She has double D’s now.’

‘What?!’ Draco started. ‘You can’t be serious!’ Everybody knew Engorgio didn’t work well on reproductive organs. The whole procedure was excruciatingly painful, not to mention downright dangerous. In the past, girls had died trying to enhance their chest that way. As had boys, when using it on their cocks. There was a reason the wizarding world wasn’t filled with perfect bodies.

Even Blaise seemed somewhat offended. ‘Jesus, Greg. You could’ve killed her.’

Goyle rolled his eyes. ‘But I didn’t, did I? Like I said: our Luna is of sturdy stock.’ He gave Draco an eager wink. ‘She won’t fail you.’

‘I told you, I’m _not_ interested!’

‘Why so irritable, Draco?’ Blaise smirked.

‘I think Draco’s in love too,’ Parvati giggled.

Draco felt his face go warm. ‘Nonsense! It’s just…’ And suddenly, he found the perfect excuse. He lifted his chin and said imperially: ‘Granger was a gift from the Dark Lord. One doesn’t trade those in like one sees fit.’

That shut them all up. His remark had cleverly reminded them of how close he was to Voldemort, and thereby of his position in their little group. They might be at Blaise’s house now, but _he_ was the boss.

‘You’re right,’ mumbled Goyle. ‘Sorry, Draco.’

Blaise wasn’t so apologetic, though. ‘Yeah,’ he squinted. ‘Sorry, Draco. We shouldn’t have suggested trading Granger in.’ A slight smile crept on his face again. ‘But I’m sure the Dark Lord wouldn’t mind if you leant her out?’

An uncomfortable feeling awoke in the pit of Draco’s stomach. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Apparate back home and bring Granger here,’ Blaise suggested. ‘Then at least someone can benefit from her.’ He motioned at Goyle.

Goyle grinned eagerly. He topped up his glass again. ‘Cheers, Blaisey!’

‘Forget it!’ Draco snapped. ‘It’s not happening.’

‘Oh, so the dark Lord opposes to lending too?’ Blaise mocked. ‘You are very aware of his do’s and don’ts, I must say.’

‘It’s not that. Besides, it would be useless bringing her. She’s… indisposed.’

The others gawked at him. An insufferable smirk spread across Blaise’s face. He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re _not_ fucking her, but you _do_ know when she’s on her period?’ 

They burst out in laughter. Him and Goyle high-fived each other. Even Parvati was sniggering behind her hand. 

‘Hahaha! Busted, Malfoy!’

Draco’s cheeks were burning now. And the worst of it was he had really been telling the truth for once. ‘Right!’ he hissed. ‘If that’s how it’s gonna be, I’m off.’ He jumped up from his seat.

‘Oh, come on, Draco, don’t be like that,’ Blaise motioned, still laughing. ‘We’re sorry. It’s that blasted powder of yours. It’s got us all worked up. We promise to leave you alone on the Granger subject, all right?’

Draco hesitated.

‘Come on, let us make it up to you. There’s booze, there’s candy…’

‘Which _I_ am taking home with me now.’ He grabbed the packet of powder from the coffee table, intending to pocket it.

‘…there’s a _girl_ …’ continued Blaise. He arched his eyebrows and tilted his head at Parvati.

Draco frowned, his mood suddenly improving. Did Blaise mean what he thought he meant?

His friend gave him a small nod.

Draco sat back down. Goyle, too, was suddenly very quiet.

Blaise turned to Parvati and gently lifted her chin. ‘Draco’s a prat, isn’t he? He won’t share his girl with his friends. But luckily for him, I’m not like that. I’m all for the equal distribution of wealth.’ He grinned at his own sarcastic joke. ‘What do you say, princess? Will you give a little love to my boys?’

Parvati licked her lips as she contemplated this. With her arms around Blaise’s neck, she looked around, sizing the other boys up. ‘I’ll do Malfoy,’ she decided. ‘But you can forget about Goyle.’

‘The lady has spoken,’ Blaise concluded.

Draco grinned, but Goyle was furious.

‘Bitch!’ he snarled at Parvati.

‘I’m sorry, love.’ She leant forward and lightly caressed his cheek. ‘You’re not my type. But you can stay and watch if you want.’

That seemed to appease Goyle a little. He nodded with a gruff ‘Hm’ and moved his seat to get a good view on the upcoming action.

Parvati motioned at Draco and he came and sat beside her and Blaise. She shifted a little, getting comfortable in between the two boys. No one spoke now, as the atmosphere got laden with arousal. Draco prepared another sniff for the four of them, to help smooth things along. Parvati was the only one that hadn’t tried any yet, and it hit her the hardest. She breathed in sharply, panting as she exhaled. Draco could feel the heat radiate from her body. He got hard almost immediately. He wanted to touch her, but the indistinct feeling he should wait for the go-ahead from Blaise held him back. It was only good manners. 

The champagne bottle was passed around. Draco knew it was a bad idea to mix it with the whisky, but as far as he was concerned there was only one drink for fucking and that was champagne.

Blaise and Parvati clearly felt the same way. Blaise took a big swig without swallowing. He dribbled the liquid into Parvati’s mouth as she kissed him. They spilled, of course, the champagne running over their chin and throat, drenching his shirt and her deep cleavage. They repeated this a couple of times, playfully kissing and licking each other. Parvati was laughing as they teased each other, and Draco felt another pang of jealousy.

He decided he couldn’t wait anymore after all, good manners or not. He ran the back of his hand over Parvati’s arm, demanding her attention. She broke the kiss with Blaise and turned towards him. Her smile let him know she was willing. He smiled back. After a disappointing start, this night was turning out to be pretty decent after all.

Blaise grinned. He flicked his wand, and Parvati’s clothes disappeared in the blink of an eye. It was a little quicker than Draco usually liked to do things, but he couldn’t say he minded. There was something very enticing about being in the company of a stark naked girl while still being fully clothed yourself. Draco’s eyes trailed over Parvati’s body. She had a very lean and supple build, with pointy, dark nippled breasts. The sparkle from the diamonds around her neck and wrists contrasted beautifully with her magnificent caramel skin.

Draco put his hand on her shoulder. She shivered and he enjoyed the wanting look in her eyes as he travelled downward towards her tits. He grabbed one and gently rubbed his thumb up and down over her nipple as he tried to get the feel of her. He knew he had found the right pace when she sighed and closed her eyes. 

Blaise took a more direct approach. In one big gulp he poured the rest of the champagne over her. ‘Ahh!!!’ she gasped, her eyes flying open when the cold liquid ran down her chest. Draco started smearing it out over her tits, and Blaise did the same on her belly and thighs, until she was coated in it. Then Blaise leant forward and gave her a slow, greedy kiss on her open mouth. She sighed, breathing out through her nose as Blaise’s pink tongue pushed deep inside her. Draco’s cock strained against his pants, his own lips slightly parted, impatient to taste Parvati for himself. On the other couch, Goyle was sporting serious wood as well.

While Blaise and Parvati continued to kiss, Draco put his mouth on her neck. He sucked a bit of skin inside and suckled it. She tasted of champagne and salt. Then he trailed his tongue downward, leaving goose bumps where he passed. When he got to her tits, he moved back and grabbed one. It was wet and shiny, and when he squeezed it the nipple bulged out towards him. He shook it a moment until it jiggled and then moved forward, opening his mouth. Slowly, he rubbed the slightly raspy surface of his tongue against it. That always made Pansy go crazy, and it seemed to have the same effect on Parvati. She uttered a muffled moan in Blaise’s mouth, and Draco felt her nipple rise up taut and hard against his tongue. With a grunt, he closed his lips around it.

‘Ohhh…’ Parvati broke the kiss with Blaise, tilting her head back. Blaise joined Draco and took her other nipple in his mouth. She panted desperately as the two boys suckled her, one on each tit. They nipped and licked her, first alternating, then more and more simultaneously.

On the other couch, Goyle was already jerking off. Draco could hear the soppy sounds. He saw Parvati avert her eyes when they trailed off in that direction. No wonder. Goyle had a freakishly big cock. Especially its girth was astounding. Any girl would be stretched wide when taking that inside her, and Parvati seemed relieved with her choice not to include him. Draco found himself wondering if maybe Goyle had used Engorgio on himself as well. He was certainly stupid enough for it…

Luckily, a new moan from Parvati distracted him from his thoughts. Blaise’s hand had reached the soft tangle of hair on her venus mound. Without moving his mouth from her nipple, Draco followed his friend’s example. Parvati welcomed them both, opening her legs wide as the two boys competed for the privilege of her wet, swollen clit. She grinded her hips, relishing in the touch of so many hands. Draco reached in deeper, his middle finger trailing along her pussy, until he found her opening. It was warm and wet and completely ready. He slipped his finger in, making her jerk. He wanted to let go of her breast, but she grabbed the back of his hair and pushed him more tightly against her chest. ‘More,’ she breathed. ‘ _More!_ ’

He gave her what she wanted, with pleasure. He opened his mouth further and sucked as much as he could of her inside, all the while still pumping his finger in and out of her cunt. ‘Oh!!!’ she gasped, pushing him even closer. He was full to the brim now, almost choking on her lush, supple softness.

Meanwhile, Blaise’s middle finger had joined his inside Parvati’s cunt. She squirmed helplessly as the both of them stimulated her pussy in different directions and rhythms at the same time.

‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Oh, _yessss…_ ’ 

Draco couldn’t take it anymore. He released her tit and looked into her eyes. 

‘I want to fuck you,’ he breathed huskily. ‘Now.’

Parvati glanced at Blaise, asking for his permission.

‘Go ahead, princess,’ he whispered. ‘Show Draco a good time.’

Draco was touched. Blaise was a true friend, allowing him to go first. He decided then and there to forgive him for those annoying comments he had made before.

Parvati’s smile got wider. In one limber movement, she climbed on top of Draco’s lap. Immediately, he felt how strong she was. Her slight frame would have suggested the contrary, but her grip on his shoulders was powerful, as was the clench of her long, slender thighs.

She leant in, but when she went to kiss him, Blaise stopped her.

‘Not on the lips, princess,’ he said sternly. ‘Your mouth is mine.’

‘Sorry, daddy,’ she whispered, giving him an apologetic yet sultry little-girl look.

She gave Draco a little kiss, just on the corner of his mouth.

‘That’s better,’ said Blaise. ‘But you still need to be punished. Stick out your ass.’

Parvati obeyed, pouting. Blaise gave her two, three lazy slaps, alternating between the cheeks. ‘Ah! Ah!! Ah!!!’ she grunted, frowning and biting down on her lip.

‘Fuck _me_!’ Goyle groaned, as he wanked ever faster, the head of his prick all red and leaking with precome.

Draco felt his cock throb too. He grabbed Parvati’s hips and pulled them into him. She sank down on top of his bulge, causing a delicious pressure in his crotch. He moved his hands up her sides and grabbed hold of her supple, bouncy tits. He pushed them together, and she sighed with pleasure. 

But when Goyle tried to touch her asshole, she gingerly turned around and slapped his hand away with a hiss.

‘Leave her alone, Goyle! She told you she doesn’t want you,’ Blaise snarled.

‘God, you’re so rude, Greg,’ Draco added.

Grumbling, Goyle recoiled and got back to jerking off.

Parvati smiled at Draco, thankful. With skillful fingers, she started unbuttoning his shirt, pecking sweet little kisses along the way. His abs contracted every time her lips touched his skin. He was so fired up everything felt ten times as sensitive. She got on her haunches, spreading her legs wide, and zipped his fly down. When her soft hands pulled out his cock, he breathed out deeply.

Her face lit up when she examined him. She looked pleased. Draco grinned. They always looked pleased.

But then he jolted, forcefully closing his eyes. ‘Oh!!!’ he cried out, as she unceremonially took his entire cock in her mouth, in one big go. He felt like he was going to shoot through the roof. ‘Careful!’ he warned her.

But Parvati was ruthless. She moved her head up and down a couple of times, for the sole purpose of lubricating him. Then she let go of him with a pop and climbed back into his lap again. He was already reaching for her, but she didn’t give him the chance. Instead, she leant backwards, put her hands on his knees and placed her feet on the couch next to him. Then she slowly pushed her warm, wet pussy against his balls.

‘Jesus!’ he managed to utter, his cock pulsating like a living creature now. It was straining for her wetness to come closer. Reaching desperately for her warmth, so near and yet so unattainable.

‘Let me fuck you, darling,’ he pleaded, squeezing Parvati’s hips. ‘Come on. Don’t make me wait any longer.’

Parvati smiled, satisfied. She moved back into a straddling position. Then she lifted her ass and reached behind her. Draco’s breathing halted when she grabbed hold of his cock and proceeded to trail it along her slit. When she was at the right spot, she gently tucked the slippery head between her lips. Draco could feel himself throbbing against her warm, wet opening. He groaned with desire, lifting his hips.

‘Down, boy,’ Parvati grinned, pushing him back.

‘Please…’ he begged.

She put her hands on his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. ‘Allow me.’ Then she slowly sat down on his cock. 

The release was incredible. He slipped inside of her like her pussy was coated in butter. This was heaven. He could have died right now, and been perfectly fine with it.

Slowly, and with unbelievably supple movements, Parvati started fucking him. Her hips moved more freely than he had ever experienced from a girl before. She was riding him like an equestrian princess, her tits bouncing on the rhythm, and he could only surrender and try his best to follow.

‘Do you like it, love?’ she panted.

‘Oh, baby,’ he grunted. ‘You’re top class.’

‘That’s my girl,’ Blaise grinned. He was sitting next to Draco, almost shoulder to shoulder. He was stroking himself, but in a much more casual way than the huffing and puffing Goyle. Blaise had used his undressing spell on himself. He was the only one of the three boys that was completely naked now. He seemed even more self-satisfied this way. He had a great body, and he knew it.

‘Hmm,’ Parvati sighed, each time she sat down on Draco’s cock. ‘Hmm!’ Her eyes were closed, entirely focused on the movement. Blaise followed her rhythm while wanking, his free hand joining Draco’s on her tits from time to time. He put three fingers in his mouth and wet them. Then he leant forward and shoved them up her ass.

‘Ahhh!!!’ Parvati shrieked. Draco could feel her tightening up around his cock, her buttocks quivering under the strain. He slowed down, worried she might be in pain. But she soon relaxed, and when she started moving again her pace was higher than before. He licked his lips. He couldn’t believe how hot this was. She was panting frantically now, her hips having trouble deciding if she wanted to lean into his cock or rather Blaise’s fingers. 

Blaise looked at her ass intently as he pumped his fingers in. He grabbed his cock with his other hand and spread the precome over the head. Then he got up from the couch and positioned himself behind her. Draco knew what was about to happen. He was surprised Parvati didn’t object. But she seemed to be perfectly fine with it. He scowled. Blaise really was a lucky fuck. But so was he. Well, tonight, anyway. It was always exciting to get to do something you had never done before. He slouched down a bit more, so Parvati’s ass would be easier to reach. Then he stopped and waited.

Blaise spit in his hand and lubricated Parvati’s asshole.

When the penetration happened, Draco gasped for breath. Parvati’s moan was so deep, so guttural, he had to bite his lip not to come then and there and ruin the whole thing. Blowing out his breath through his teeth, Draco attempted to restrain himself, while Blaise’s cock slowly ploughed its way down her ass.

When he was all the way in, Blaise stopped for a moment, allowing her and Draco both to catch their breath. 

‘Do you like that, princess?’ he whispered in Parvati’s ear.

She nodded, unable to speak.

Blaise grinned, grabbed hold of her shoulders, and started fucking her.

Parvati’s fingers dug into Draco’s shoulders. Her grip was stronger and weaker at the same time, the cling almost desperate. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open. She was sweating. Draco could see the beads form on her brow. Her entire being was focused on relaxing her muscles so she could bear having Blaise’s cock in her ass while her pussy was already full to the brim with his. Her groans were slow, deep and laden with a new emotion he couldn’t quite determine.

Blaise moved his hands from Parvati’s shoulders to the back of the couch, on either side of Draco’s neck. Parvati was pushed forward, her upper body resting entirely on Draco’s now. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. All strength had gone from her touch. It was Blaise who set the pace now. Draco held still while he felt Parvati’s cunt move up and down his cock on the rhythm of Blaise’s thrusts. She panted in his ear. The heat in the room seemed to increase. They were all sweating now. 

Blaise was grunting away happily, but Draco couldn’t utter a single sound. His moans died somewhere deep in his throat, while his body and mind tried to come to terms with all the different sensations. This was so stimulating it was almost unbearable. Parvati and Blaise were both facing him, their body’s so unbelievably close to his it was like the three of them were one being. Their weight was bearing down on him, pushing him into the couch. He could _feel_ Blaise too. Inside Parvati, through the tissue, he felt his friends his cock pass along his own.

Draco was lightheaded. The drugs, the sex, the alcohol, it was all more intense, more exotic than usual. He sensed he was on the path of an orgasm of epic magnitude. His eyelids felt heavy, his body strained and relaxed at the same time. It was like he was in a dream, or in a trance or something. Almost sleepily, his eyes trailed off to the side, to where Goyle was sitting.

A _huge_ mistake.

Draco blinked when he suddenly looked into the face of Luna Lovegood. Apparently, Goyle had apparated back home and brought her along for the ride. She was on all fours, and Goyle was fucking her like a dog. His hands clinging on her hips, he was pounding her hard and fast. Luna’s ridiculously large tits bounced on the rhythm of his thrusts. But the rest of her looked tiny underneath his colossal figure. Her entire body quivered, skin and fat shaking.

And her face...

It was devoid of all expression. Luna’s dreamy blue eyes were completely empty. She was broken inside. Dead.

‘Hee-hee-hee,’ Goyle wheezed, high pitched, like a pig. His face was all red and blotchy. He grabbed Luna by the hair and pulled her head back. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, _Hermione’s_ face flashed before Draco’s eyes. Now _she_ was being pounded by Goyle. Her pretty brown eyes had lost all their warmth. They were just as dead as Luna’s.

A huge wave of revulsion welled up inside of Draco. He blinked, finding it hard to focus. In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, he shifted his attention away from Goyle and Luna, and back to Parvati. He frowned. Parvati’s brow was furrowed, her face a mask of concentration. The contrast with Blaise’s lustful expression was shocking. This time Draco had no problem determining the quality of her moans. She didn’t like this. What girl liked this? Being handed out as a party favour on her boyfriend's fuckfest? Being taken in a sandwich? Anal sex was always a little painful, even when it was pleasurable. Even Pansy, who was pretty accommodating to say the least, only agreed to take it up the ass on special occasions. So what must it feel like to do that while you were already full in the pussy?

And suddenly, Draco saw everything crystal clear. No, Parvati didn’t like this. She was just surviving. It was a strategy like any other. He wondered if she believed in her own delusion, though, and thought she really was in love with Blaise. Maybe she did. The human psyche was strong and creative. Especially when it needed to protect you from ending up with a look like Luna’s in your eyes...

Draco uttered a strangled groan.

God, what was he doing? What _was_ this?

The sound of Parvati’s and Blaise’s panting seemed to become louder and louder. It was all around him now. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Their weight bearing down on him, suffocating him. The sweat and heat and moistness of their bodies. He wanted to push them off of him. But he couldn’t stop now. His friends would think he was insane!

The orgasm he had been trying to hold back a moment ago, was now rapidly moving out of his reach. Was this what it felt like to get raped? This powerlessness? Your body trapped, subjected to sensations that were stimulating and excruciating at the same time?

‘Fuck, I’m nearly there,’ Blaise breathed. ‘How about you, princess?’

Parvati nodded again, eyes still closed. 

‘Come on, Draco. Let’s do her together. It’ll be all the more intense.’

‘I- I’m not ready yet.’

‘Please, Draco,’ Parvati breathed. ‘Come. Do it now.’

‘Do it, Draco,’ Blaise repeated. ‘Fucking come. Spray her cunt.’

Draco grunted, his body fighting the orgasm his mind longed for. He knew he needed it, for only then this nightmare would be over.

Blaise put his hands on Draco’s shoulders, next to Parvati’s. They were both pulling at him now, bearing down on him, crushing him.

‘Oh yeah,’ Blaise licked his lips. ‘Yeah, I’m close. I’m _coming_ …’

Draco saw Goyle nearing the climax too. He didn’t know why his eyes had trailed off in that direction again. Quickly, he closed them. Unfortunately, he couldn’t close his ears.

Goyle’s pig-like wheezing became more and more high pitched. Another sound mingled with his. Breath, pounded out in slight little puffs. It was Luna, her physical pain breaking through her armour of emotional numbness.

Draco closed his eyes tighter still. Parvati was panting in his ear. Groaning. ‘Come, Draco, come, please, come…’ she pleaded, her own breath being pounded out too. Blaise was now pumping her ass like he was fucking her in her pussy. Totally oblivious – or indifferent – to the pain he was causing.

Draco breathed in, and shut everything out. He thought of Hermione. Her pretty face. Her bushy hear. Her slight figure stalking around the Manor. The way she had smiled when she had gotten a proper meal. He eyes, dark and broody and furious when he taunted her.

The orgasm was long, shaky and utterly, utterly unbearable.

‘Ha ha, nice going, buddy,’ Blaise laughed as he pulled out of Parvati and sank down on the couch next to Draco. His cock was still hard, and all wet from Parvati’s fluids. Behind them, Luna was already cleaning up Goyle’s big donkey cock with her mouth. She was sitting on her knees, Goyle’s sperm dripping from her pussy. 

Parvati followed Draco’s gaze. There lay something of understanding in her eyes, when she bowed low and whispered in his ear: ‘It’s a brave new world, love.’ Then she licked him over the lips, got up from his lap and presented her backside to Blaise. Semen was dribbling out of both her holes, Blaise’s and Draco’s mingling together.

Blaise gave her a satisfied slap on the ass. ‘Well done, princess.’ 

Then he looked at Draco and smiled: ‘What did I tell you? True love!’


	6. Chapter 6

Draco apparated back home in a complete panic. 

_Fucking Goyle!_ he thought, as he staggered through the shadowy corridors of the Manor. _Fucking cocksucking motherfucking Goyle!!!_

He had been enjoying himself perfectly fine. Yes, he was having a downright swell time. And then Goyle had to go and fuck it all up by raping poor Luna Lovegood right in front of him. And now everything was ruined. He couldn’t unsee what he had seen. He couldn’t _unfeel_ what he had felt. Things would never be the same again. It was a catastrophe.

All Draco wanted to do right now was take a shower. Or two. Or three. But first he needed to find Hermione. ‘Granger!’ he yelled. ‘Granger!!!’ 

An irrational fear had taken him over. It was like waking up from a nightmare of one of your loved ones dying. You knew it wasn’t real, but you couldn’t get to sleep again before you opened their bedroom door just a crack and saw with your own eyes they were safe.

‘Hermione…’ Draco groaned, almost desperately.

There came no reply. The big house seemed empty and deserted. Where were his parents? Had they gone out as well? He thought he remembered something about a dinner at the Crabbes, but he couldn’t be sure.

He stood there for a moment, hesitating. No, he had to see her. He _had_ to. 

Draco hadn’t been to the house-elves’ quarters since he was a child, but the dank smell when he opened the door under the back stairwell was still the same. He descended the creaky steps to the cellar. When he entered, the elves started in a terrible fright.

‘Master!’ they piped, falling over themselves bowing and curtsying. ‘You honour us with your presence! How may we help you? Have we grieved you in any way? Please tell us how to make it up to you!’

‘Where’s the girl?’ Draco snapped. He couldn’t abide by their groveling right now. 

They motioned at the far corner of the space. There, in the shadows, lay a small figure squirming on the floor.

The fear inside him spiked. He ran towards her and crouched down. Hermione’s hands were pulling at her collar, her heels digging into the ground with weak, powerless movements. Quickly, he touched the collar with his wand. It relaxed and she took a deep, shaky breath. 

‘Oh Hermione, why didn’t you just come when I called?’ He knew he should hide the emotion from his voice. But he couldn’t. Not now. He was too distraught. Too confused by everything that had happened tonight.

Hermione was still panting heavily, her eyes half closed. He brushed a stray lock from her forehead and realised immediately why she hadn’t come. She hadn’t been able to.

‘You’re burning up,’ he started, feeling her forehead and cheeks. They were clammy with fever. His fear turned into a shiver now. He had known she was in danger. How had he known that? How could he have possibly been so sure?

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with an unhealthy intensity. A wide smile spread across her face. ‘Ron!’ she breathed with a sob. ‘Oh, Ron, you’re here! _Finally_ you’re here!’ She stretched out her hand at Draco. The handkerchief that had been serving as a bandage was wet and dirty. Carefully, he took her hand in his and removed it. The cut from the broken champagne glass was badly infected. No wonder, if you considered the filth she had to sleep in. Her bed was a thin layer of mouldy straw, scraped together on the cold cellar floor.

This ended here.

He wanted to get up to beckon the house-elves, but she clutched on to him, her eyes wide with panic. ‘No! Don’t leave me! Not again! _Please!!!_ ’

She looked so small and helpless. So utterly wretched.

‘Don’t worry,’ Draco whispered, softly, so the house-elves wouldn’t hear. ‘I’ll take care of you.’

She gave him a wary look and repeated: ‘Don’t leave me.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. I promise.’

That seemed to reassure her. She relaxed and exhaled. Her eyes fell shut almost immediately. The option of moving her with magic didn’t even cross Draco’s mind. Something else took over. An instinct, from somewhere deep within.

He took her in his arms. It was easy. She weighed almost nothing. 

When he carried her upstairs, she rested her head against him and said in a little voice: ‘Ron… I- I don’t feel so good.’

‘I know, sweetheart,’ he whispered. ‘I know.’

 

*

 

He instructed the elves to prepare one of the old servant rooms for her, up in the attic. Those rooms had been sealed off since the twenties, when having human servants from the lower wizarding families had been all the rage. They were small, but dry and warm, and there was a bed and a chair and even a little cracked mirror above a washing basin. Hermione would be much better off there than in that awful cellar. She was _never_ going back there again. Not even for five minutes.

So while the elves went about their task, Draco put her in his own bed.

He gritted his teeth as he looked at her. She was completely out of it now, mumbling and groaning incessantly. He was pretty good at potions, but he had never really looked into the medicinal ones. Those were a class apart. They needed a separate study that took years. The best he could manage was a concoction against headaches and hangovers. 

She needed a real Healer.

Draco’s brow furrowed. There was no way their family physician, Von Krinkelstein, would ever dirty his hands on a mudblood. And he couldn’t call in just anybody. Not without knowing where their allegiances lied. If word got out Draco Malfoy held the life of his slave a little too dear…

While he stood there hesitating, Hermione uttered another weak moan. She moved restlessly under the sheets. Panic closed around Draco’s throat like a fist. He had never felt so useless in his life. He wished he could help her, but it was like his brain wouldn’t function properly.

So when he suddenly heard muffled voices from downstairs, he almost cried out in relief.

Of course.

There was one person he could always turn to when he was at his wits’ end.

 

*

 

‘Draco…’ Narcissa sighed, shaking her head as her eyes fell on the girl lying in her son’s bed. 

‘She’s terribly ill, mother.’ To his horror he noticed his voice was shaking a bit. This night had been such a rollercoaster of emotions. It still was.

‘Since when have you been keeping her here, in your room?’ Narcissa inquired.

Draco blinked. ‘No… it’s not like that. I just moved her here because she’s unwell.’

‘Hm.’ Narcissa raised an eyebrow. She approached the bed. 

‘It’s her hand,’ Draco said, eager for his mother to take the problem on.

With a wave of her wand Narcissa lifted the sheet. Hermione’s hand levitated. Narcissa took a look at it, and then gently placed it down again. ‘Indeed.’

For a moment, no one spoke.

‘She needs a doctor,’ Draco ventured at long last.

Narcissa stood there, tall and still, like a statue. ‘Old Von Krinkelstein would never touch a mudblood.’

‘I know. That’s why I need your help.’

She looked straight at him. ‘I wouldn’t want to touch her, either.’

Draco felt his stomach sink.

‘And neither should you,’ she added.

‘I haven’t. I won’t.’ But he couldn’t help thinking of how Hermione had put her head on his shoulder just now, when he carried her up. The heat of her feverish skin against his. And he knew his mother could read the truth in his eyes. He cursed himself for drinking so much. The drugs had worn off already, but the booze… It always lingered longer, making him more careless, more vulnerable.

Narcissa walked up to him and gently caressed his cheek. ‘Maybe this is a blessing in disguise, darling,’ she pleaded. ‘The wisest thing to do now would be to let nature take its course. Like I suggested in the beginning, remember?’

Draco breathed out hard. She was right, of course. It would be wisest. No good could come from letting this… _situation_ drag on any further. 

He knew where he was heading if he did.

_Straight for the abyss…_

Draco took his mother’s hand and squeezed it. Further reasoning wouldn’t help. But she’d always had a hard time saying no to him. And she had just visited the Crabbes. She was usually a little sentimental then, with them having lost Vincent and all.

‘Mother,’ Draco whispered. ‘Please…’

Narcissa frowned. She sighed again. Then she nodded and said: ‘Very well. If you insist. I’ll summon the vet.’

The vet. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that? ‘Thank you, mother.’

Narcissa raised a finger. ‘But she can’t be in your room when he arrives. And make sure those sheets are changed before you use your bed again!’

 

*

 

Draco stood by the small window in the attic room. A somber dawn was breaking. Behind him, he could hear Hermione’s breathing. It was still deep and ragged, but not such a struggle as it had been a couple of hours ago. She was asleep. Really asleep, not in a fever dream. The animal doctor had given her a draught before treating her. Thankfully, healing sepsis was very alike in beasts as it was in men. Although she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Because of her malnourishment, her immune system would have a hard time fighting the infection. That also explained why things had deteriorated so quickly.

‘Can we do anything else, Master?’ the chief house-elf inquired.

‘No, you did a good job on the room. Thank you, Kreepy,’ said Draco.

‘Master.’ The elf bowed low, revelling in having received a kind word.

‘Although, yes, there is something,’ he changed his mind. ‘When she is better, I want you to move her again. To the room right above mine.’ He shrugged. ‘I want her close. So she’ll be right handy when I need her.’ He didn’t know why he felt compelled to explain himself to a house-elf.

The thing was looking at him with big, slightly wondrous eyes.

‘That’ll be all,’ he snapped his fingers.

The elf scurried away.

He was alone with her now. 

Draco looked at Hermione as she lay there in the narrow wrought-iron bed, her chest rising and falling under the sheets. He could go to her now. He could sit beside her, maybe even hold her hand. No one would know. Not even she. 

The desire to touch her, to just let go and surrender to his feelings was almost dizzying. 

Draco didn’t move a muscle. He just kept standing there, by the window, as if paralysed. The murky morning light started creeping in, and he could feel every fiber of his body cry out with fatigue. He should really go to his room and get some rest. This night had been endless.

At that exact moment, Hermione groaned and moved in her sleep. She grimaced. In pain, or maybe it was just a nightmare.

He hesitated a fraction of a second longer. Then he walked over to the bed, pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. He didn’t take her hand. He didn’t touch her forehead again, nor her cheek. With the passing hours he had sobered up too much to take such unnecessary risks.

But he had sworn he wouldn’t leave her. And he wasn’t going to break that promise.

Maybe somewhere deep down, she would register she wasn’t alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of this story I am assuming Peter Pettigrew never died.  
> Many thanks to everyone who has been following so far!  
> xx

The next few days, Hermione drifted in and out of consciousness. Despite another visit from the vet, her fever lingered, simmering underneath the surface, with the occasional flare that scared the shit out of Draco. The guilt left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew full well he had caused this. He had struck her when he had ought to take care of her wounds. He had neglected her to the point of near death. Every time he walked up the narrow steps to the attic, he was accompanied by that realisation.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t continue sitting by her bed twenty four seven. The world kept on turning, and he had his obligations in it. A fact he was painfully reminded of when they received word Voldemort was coming to the Manor. It was just a dinner, but with the Dark Lord, no one could ever be sure of how things would pan out.

So on Saturday evening, the Malfoys –and an overly enthusiastic Pansy¬- sat together in silence in the downstairs drawing room, anxiously awaiting the arrival of their Master. Draco gnawed on the nail of his thumb. He was always wary when confronted with Voldemort, and this time it was worse than usual. He had taken precautions of course, brushing up on his Occlumency and such. He just hoped it would be sufficient.

‘I wonder what’s taking him,’ Narcissa fretted. She looked at her pocket watch again.

‘The Dark Lord will come when he comes,’ Lucius snapped. His annoyed tone betrayed how nervous he was too. He never spoke to his wife in that manner under normal circumstances.

‘Oh my God!!’ Pansy squeaked, when the fireplace started crackling. ‘They’re here!’

They all jumped to their feet. Pansy could hardly contain herself. She squeezed Draco’s arm with excitement. It was the first time she would meet Voldemort personally. Something she had been looking forward to for ages.

Draco patted her hand to steady her, and she gave him a grateful look. To be honest, he had hardly thought about her all week, preoccupied as he had been with Hermione. If his mother hadn’t suggested inviting her, it would never have crossed his mind. But now she was here, he was glad to have her by his side. Pansy always presented well. She was dressed in silver satin, with an exposed back. The look went nicely with her black bob. Very glamourous.

The fire flared green, and there they were. Pettigrew came first. Why Voldemort still kept that creepy personage by his side was a mystery to Draco. He had often heard his father complain about it. Lucius thought the repulsive Pettigrew should be put on the sideline now he had served his purpose. But Voldemort seemed strangely attached to the man. Maybe it was sentiment. After all, Pettigrew had remained loyal during a time when so many others hadn’t. Or maybe it was because Voldemort wanted to remind those others about that fact. If so, it was certainly succeeding in irking Lucius.

After Pettigrew, Bellatrix appeared. She stepped out of the fireplace with a casual stride, twirling her wand, her hair bigger than ever. To everyone’s surprise, she had brought Longbottom along. Or rather, she was leading him along by a chain, like a dog. 

Draco grimaced. With one look he determined Neville had gone completely and utterly mad. No wonder. His body was like a map of pain. There were things carved into his skin. Symbols, words, the occasional burn mark here and there. Pieces of metal had been pierced through his tender bits. He was naked, save for a filthy loin-cloth, but Draco suspected that what was underneath probably had received the same treatment, or worse. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much suffering that must’ve been accompanied by. Yet when Bellatrix yanked the chain, Neville’s facial expression was one of insane rapture. His head was shaved, he had lost the babyfat and become lean and muscular. He looked quite menacing, really.

‘Oh my God,’ Pansy whispered again, and her grip on Draco’s arm tightened.

Lord Voldemort arrived, and they all bowed low.

‘Master,’ Lucius grovelled. ‘What a delight to receive you here, in our humble home.’

‘A pleasure, as always, Lucius,’ the airy voice hissed.

Draco’s skin crawled. He had been in the company of Voldemort on many occasions, but he never really got accustomed to the sight of that snake-like face. He noticed the Dark Lord had brought a companion as well. Ginny Weasley stood behind him like a pale shadow. She, too, was all but unrecognisable. Though not in the same way as Neville. Her body had been unscathed. In fact, she looked very well. She had clearly been fed, bathed, taken care of. She was barefoot, as was Voldemort himself. Her simple burgundy dress matched her skin and hair beautifully. It was fabricated from the same flowy material as Voldemort’s own clothes. No, the radical change in her appearance was solely caused by her face. Her pale blue eyes were heavily set with layer upon layer of smudged kohl, and there lay a shrewd, razor-sharp expression in them. Evil, almost.

The Malfoys greeted the Dark Lord one by one, bending their knee and kissing his ring to pledge their allegiance.

‘How lovely,’ Voldemort said, when Draco introduced Pansy to him. He ran his long-nailed fingers across the girl’s cheek, studying her face closely. ‘I know your family well, my dear. The Parkinsons have always been faithful followers of mine.’

Pansy blushed. 

‘A fine choice, Draco,’ Voldemort commented. 

‘Lucius and I agree, My Lord,’ said Narcissa, with an eager wink at Pansy. ‘We all hope those two will have good news for us soon.’

Draco didn’t know where to look.

‘I’m always overjoyed when two young people of the right blood lines find each other,’ Voldemort nodded. ‘Your match will mean advancement for both your families and the Wizarding world in general.’

Pansy was positively beaming. Draco stifled a sigh. He knew she wouldn’t stop until she had a ring on her finger now.

‘Shall we start with some drinks?’ Lucius suggested. 

‘Fine,’ said Bellatrix, as she unceremonially dropped herself into her host’s favourite chair. ‘But don’t keep the food waiting too long, I’m famished!’ 

Longbottom stooped down in front of his Mistress and positioned himself like a human foot-stool. A process he repeated regularly, judging by the casual nature with which it happened.

Lucius gave his sister-in-law a foul look, as she stretched comfortably in his chair, resting her feet on Longbottom’s back. He stubbornly ignored her remark, and waited for Voldemort’s own instructions.

The Dark Lord nodded. ‘Yes, make it quick, Lucius. For we have much to discuss.’

Draco could see a shiver of annoyance pass across his father’s face. He had always begrudged aunt Bella her place as Voldemort’s favourite. Being second in line wasn’t something Lucius Malfoy was satisfied with. Especially now. He hid it well, but Draco knew his father still felt unsure of his position after everything that had happened during the war.

Lucius neighed his head and forced a smile. ‘Very well then. Maybe we can take our drinks at the dinner table?’

‘Oh yes.’ Bellatrix clapped her hands. ‘That’ll be perfect.’

The whole company moved into the dining room.

Trays of champagne were already waiting for them there, thanks to the House-Elves.

‘Where is the Mudblood?’ Bellatrix asked. ‘Don’t you let her serve?’

‘She’s recovering, auntie,’ Draco answered, and he noticed Pansy’s immediate and keen interest.

Bella’s eyes grew wide. ‘Recovering?’

‘From her injuries,’ he specified.

A wide smile spread across Bellatrix’ face. ‘Good show, Draco!’

Pansy smiled too, a little relieved, it seemed. ‘Yes, Draco is terribly strict with her, aren’t you, baby? I love watching him handle her. Sooo inspirational.’

Bellatrix nodded, genuinely impressed.

And so was Voldemort, apparently. ‘Come sit by me, Draco,’ he spoke, after giving him a long, vetting look.

Draco couldn’t help but feel pride at such an honour. Even if the reason for it was utterly shameful. A pang of guilt struck him. Quickly, he suppressed the unwelcome emotion before Voldemort could pick up on it, and took the chair that had been meant for his father, on the Dark Lord’s right hand side. His parents were clearly over the moon with the situation.

‘Come,’ said Bella, as she took Pansy by the arm. ‘You sit with me, dearie.’ They sat down on Voldemort’s left hand side, which was Bella’s preferred spot. Narcissa joined them, and Lucius and Pettigrew joined Draco.

When everyone was seated, Lucius proposed a toast. ‘To your just and omnipotent rule, My Lord.’

‘Hear, hear!’ Pettigrew chimed in.

They all raised their glass and drank.

‘How is the situation up North, My Lord?’ Lucius inquired, as the appetizers were served. 

‘Progressing in the right direction,’ said Voldemort. ‘In fact, I’m going to Durmstrang to meet with Dolohov soon. In the meantime, I have a request for you, Lucius.’

He meant an order, of course. But the fact he had taken the trouble to encapsulate it in a question meant the Malfoys were still on his good side. Lucius beamed when he leaned in and asked: ‘Master?’ 

‘I mean to hold a big gathering. A feast, if you will, for all my followers. Much like the one we had on Doom’s Day, only more elaborate. This is to be a regular thing. I need to keep an ear to the ground with my people. Know what their grievances are, what they are doing, feeling.’ A slight smile crossed his face, and Draco knew it was all bollocks. This was just a means for him to keep in absolute control. A reminder to everyone that they were being watched and checked upon. That no one could keep out of his grasp. ‘It’ll be much easier for me than if my servants were to visit every single family.’

‘Of course,’ said Lucius. ‘I quite agree. Where can I be of service, My Lord?’

‘I want to use the Manor,’ Voldemort announced, and Draco’s stomach cringed. He could see his father tense up as well. The time when the Dark Lord had confiscated their home still lay fresh in their memory. ‘It’s big enough,’ Voldemort continued. ‘And it does have a certain… prestige about it.’ He looked around, the last words having a slightly sarcastic ring to them as they echoed against the high vaulted ceiling.

Lucius exchanged a quick look with Narcissa. Then he bowed his head. ‘Of course, My Lord.’

‘What are we going to do, on the big day?’ Bella asked. ‘We need an activity. Something fun, to keep people’s spirits up.’ She bit into a pastry, but then pulled a face and spit the whole thing back out, into her hand.

Narcissa sighed. ‘Really, Bella.’

‘What?’ Bellatrix threw the mashed up ball of food over her shoulder. Behind her, Longbottom ducked to the floor and gobbled it up.

Narcissa shook her head disapprovingly.

‘ _What?_ ’ Bella repeated. ‘I haven’t made a mess, Cissy. It’s gone. _He_ ate it. Didn’t you, my pet?’ She pouted her lips and pulled at the chain, that was simply there for her pleasure, as she could have just as well used her wand to lead him. Neville came up to the table. On his knees, he sat in between his Mistress and Pansy. ‘Well done, boy,’ Bella cooed. ‘Let me give you a reward.’ Upon which she grabbed the metal ring that was pierced through his nipple, and gave it a sharp twist.

Neville gasped, and Bellatrix cackled with laughter. But instead of shrinking away, as Draco had expected, Longbottom leaned further forward, an eager look in his eyes. And Draco realised that maybe the chain wasn’t there solely for _her_ pleasure alone.

‘More?’ Bella asked.

Neville nodded, and she repeated the gesture. Twice as hard, this time.

He groaned and Bellatrix stuck out her tongue, meaning to lick him across the face.

‘Jesus…’ Pansy whispered, but Draco recognised the blush that was spreading fast across her cheeks. She had often blushed like that in the intimacy of his room. Now he was looking at her from across the table, he realised she actually had quite a hard face. He had never noticed that before.

‘Bella, please!’ Narcissa reprimanded her sister. ‘Not at the dinner table.’ 

Bella sucked her tongue back in and rolled her eyes. ‘Boo, Cissy, you’re no fun…’ With a sigh, she waved Neville away.

‘I wish I still had a slave,’ Pettigrew whined, with a longing look at Bellatrix and Neville.

‘You shouldn’t have killed yours so soon,’ Bella snapped. ‘Then you’d still ‘ve had one. No use crying over it now!’

‘George was mean,’ Pettigrew defended himself. ‘He teased me. He _vexed_ me!’

Draco wasn’t surprised. The Weasley twins had always been insurgents. Look at their behaviour when Umbridge had been in charge of Hogwarts! No, he couldn’t imagine either one of them bowing to someone like Pettigrew, collar or not. George had probably preferred death.

He glanced at Ginny. But the news yet another brother of hers was gone, didn’t seem to affect her. Maybe she had already heard about it. Or maybe she simply didn’t care. Fact was she stood behind Voldemort, cold and completely unmoved. Draco found it hard looking at her like that. Quickly, he shifted his gaze.

‘Now now children,’ Voldemort spoke. ‘No fighting. If you really want another slave, you should only have asked, Peter. The cells in Azkaban are filled to the brim. I have new rebels coming in daily, from all over the country.’

‘Is that so, My Lord?’ Narcissa inquired.

‘Yes, my dear, we’re hunting down the very last ones. I want them weeded out. And of course there’s always traitors and wizards with forged blood statuses and such.’

Lucius narrowed his eyes. ‘Say, My Lord. Maybe we could do something with that? There must be other people in Peter’s situation. People that have lost their slaves or are simply fed up with them… We could organise a swap on the day of the gathering. Allow them to do a trade or choose someone new entirely.’

‘Oh yes!’ said Bella. ‘That sounds like great fun! Not that I’d ever dream of giving you up, my pet.’ She patted Neville on the top of his shaved head.

Voldemort nodded. ‘Excellent idea, Lucius.’

Draco could see his father’s chest swell. 

‘Oh, oh, oh! And I know just the way to dispose of the unwanted ones too!’ Bella screamed, bouncing up and down in her seat. She grinned widely. ‘A good old-fashioned Mud-Hunt!’

‘What’s that?’ Pansy frowned.

‘Hasn’t Draco told you about those, dearie? His granddaddy, Abraxas, was actually one of the last wizards to have ever held one. Back then they used to round up the mudbloods and release them into a forest. Then a group of wizards would go in on Thestrals and hunt them down for sport.’

‘Well,’ Pansy giggled. ‘That certainly sounds more interesting than another boring game of Quidditch!’

‘Oh, let’s do it, My Lord,’ Bellatrix begged. ‘Let’s organise a Mud-Hunt for the excess slaves. I’ve always wanted to participate in one of those!’

‘The grounds around the Manor would be perfect for it,’ Lucius mentioned, eager to get his two cents in now Bella had stolen his thunder a little.

Voldemort thought it over for a moment. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘It is agreed then. Make the necessary arrangements, Lucius. When I’m back from Durmstrang, we’ll do it.’

‘Yay!!!’ Bella squealed. She clapped her hands, and Neville did too, mirroring her with a sick smile. ‘Aren’t you happy, my pet? What a treat that’ll be for us!’

Draco sighed inwardly, a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

Yet another thing to look forward to…


	8. Chapter 8

It felt like they would never leave. When they finally did, Draco was exhausted. He poured himself a whisky, tried to ignore Pansy’s excited chatter, and sat down in front of the fireplace.

‘We’re off to bed,’ Narcissa said, looking worn-down as well. ‘Goodnight, children.’

‘Goodnight Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy,’ Pansy beamed. ‘Thanks again for the invitation. I had an amazing time!’

‘Our pleasure, my dear,’ Narcissa answered. ‘We’re always glad to have you.’ She gave her and Draco a goodnight kiss and then left with her husband.

With a sigh, Pansy came and sat beside Draco. ‘What. A. Night.’ She shook her head, completely starstruck. ‘I can’t _believe_ I just had dinner with the Dark Lord and _Bellatrix Lestrange!_ You’re so fortunate, Draco.’

Draco took a sip from his whisky. 

‘Your aunt is really something,’ she continued. ‘Did you see how she treated Longbottom?’ Pansy curled up her nose, but her eyes were twinkling. ‘I hate to admit it, but part of me found that quite stimulating to watch. In fact, it’s got me all worked up.’

She tilted her head and gave him a naughty look. Draco felt a twinge in his stomach. With a shock, he realised he hadn’t jerked off all week. It was almost unfathomable, but with everything that had happened, he simply hadn’t thought about it. That certainly couldn’t be healthy…

‘Well,’ Pansy said. ‘Are we going up to your room or what?’

‘Darling,’ he answered. ‘You read my mind.’

 

*

 

But when they got there, she started gabbing again. About something he’d much rather not have been reminded of…

‘I saw Daphne on Thursday,’ she remarked, as she removed her jewellery. 

‘Oh?’ he couldn’t see her expression. She was standing in front of the cupboard, with her back to him.

‘She said you went over to Blaise’s, the other day.’

His stomach jolted. ‘Hm.’

‘Greg was there too.’ She turned around and asked in a dangerously casual tone: ‘What did you boys do together?’

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. ‘Nothing in particular. Just, you know, blokes’ stuff.’

‘Was Parvati there?’

He scoffed as if he’d never heard something so ridiculous in his life. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘So she _was_ there?’

Draco swallowed. He had to make a decision now. Go for the flat out lie, or try and walk the fine line just outside the truth. ‘Yes…’ he ventured.

Pansy breathed out through her nose. ‘That _slut!_ ’

Draco felt a violent heat rush to his face. He opened his mouth to proclaim a number of excuses and lies, one even more implausible than the other, but luckily for him, Pansy was quicker.

‘Poor Daphne,’ she sighed. ‘Blaise is going too far. He is totally mesmerised by that Parvati. I heard he even took her to the Magixx Club. Out in the open, for everyone to see! Tell me Draco, is she really his girlfriend?’

Draco felt something go ice cold, deep in the pit of his stomach. ‘No,’ he said disdainfully. ‘She’s definitely _not_ his girlfriend.’

Pansy narrowed her eyes. ‘But he _is_ in love with her, isn’t he?’

Draco didn’t usually like to snitch on his friends. But after what happened the other night, as far as he was concerned, Blaise could go fuck himself. ‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘Totally.’

‘I knew it!’ Pansy shrieked.

‘Do you reckon Daphne will leave him now?’ Draco found himself hoping. 

Pansy sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘If only! The silly cow’s intent on winning him back. It’s all so unfair! Whores like that Parvati have tricks up their sleeve no decent girl can compete with.’

Draco cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well…’

‘Although,’ Pansy giggled, with a conspiratorial look. ‘Do you know what lengths she would go to? That she _has_ already gone to?’

‘Who? Parvati?’

‘No, _Daphne!_ ’ Laughing, Pansy flung her arms around Draco’s neck. 

He couldn’t help but smile. ‘Tell me.’

‘I really shouldn’t…’

‘Come on!’

‘I promised her I would keep it a secret.’

He pecked a kiss on her neck. And another one. And another one.

She inhaled with a shiver. ‘Oh, all right then.’ She leant in and whispered in his ear: ‘Daphne went down on Parvati. They did a threesome with Blaise, all together.’

Draco feigned surprise. ‘Bollocks!’

But Pansy’s eyes grew wide. ‘It’s the truth! Daphne wouldn’t lie about something as shameful as that. I mean: yuck! Can you imagine? It would be like me going down on _Granger_.’

‘Honey,’ he said. ‘You would look sexy going down on anyone.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s true. But it would be _her_ going down on _me_.’

He snorted. ‘Of course.’

She grinned at him, and he could see she was getting that adventurous look in her eyes. How he loved that look! Teasing, he nipped at her bottom lip. She returned the gesture, and a moment later they were French kissing like there was no tomorrow.

Pansy slid her hand down his waist. But when she reached his crotch, she pulled back and knitted her eyebrows together. 

‘You’re not hard!’

Draco looked down, incredulous. 

But she was right. He wasn’t.

‘O…’ he muttered. 

‘Why aren’t you _hard?!_ ’ Pansy repeated.

He didn’t know what to say. This had never happened to him before. 

Pansy’s frown deepened. ‘Say, Draco. You’re not going to disappoint me, I hope?’

An overwhelming panic flared up inside of him. ‘Of course not! Maybe…’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe we just need to warm up a little more.’

‘ _Warm up?_ ’ She spat out the words like they had gone bad, and he noticed that hardness in her face again.

‘You know, Pans,’ he snapped, ‘this really isn’t helping.’

She blinked. ‘Yes, of course. I suppose you’re right. Sorry…’ But she was still frowning.

He caressed her cheek. ‘Don’t worry, love,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘This is just a temporary hiccup. Show me some skin, and I’ll be ready for you in no time.’

Her expression mellowed. ‘That can be arranged.’ She pulled the straps off her shoulders, and her dress fell to the ground in a river of silk.

She was wearing a new lingerie set. Red, to match her white skin. It looked gorgeous. But much to Draco’s dismay, still nothing was happening downstairs. Quickly, before she would notice, he pulled her close and grabbed her tits. Through the lace, he felt her nipples go hard. But those were the only things that did, unfortunately…

Desperate, he pulled the bra off. But not even the sight of her tits could bring life to his cock. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he whispered, cringing with shame. ‘I think you’re going to have to help me a little.’

Pansy didn’t need another word. She immediately got down to business. Without braking the embrace, she zipped his fly down and put her hand down his trousers. Normally, that would have been enough to get him lubricating, but now, _nothing_. Not even a slight twinge. He leant his head against hers while she pulled at his limp cock, too embarrassed to look at her. Pansy was determined, though. When she realised her efforts weren’t paying off, she dropped to her knees and started working on him that way. He closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the sensation. On the feeling of her soft, warm lips around him. 

But he was too freaked out, and in the end she had to come back up, gasping for breath, exhausted. 

‘It isn’t working,’ she whimpered. ‘You’re not attracted to me anymore, are you?’ 

‘Don’t be silly. You know I think you’re smoking!’

‘Then why aren’t you _aroused_?’ she whined.

Yes, why wasn’t he? 

‘I’ve had a lot on my mind this week,’ he tried to find an explanation. ‘With the Dark Lord coming and everything. I’m a bit stressed out, nothing more.’

‘I don’t know, Draco…’

‘Hey, look,‘ he gave her a kiss on her forehead. ‘Why don’t you spend the night here, with me?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Spend the night?’

He had never allowed her to sleep over before, and he had planned to check up on Hermione before going to bed, but what else could he do? ‘I’m sure things will be better in the morning, when I’m rested.’ 

Pansy smiled, her mood vastly improved. ‘All right then.’

They got in bed and she cuddled up close. It didn’t take her five minutes to doze off, pleased as she was with this new step in their relationship. But Draco knew she wouldn’t stay pleased. Not if this nasty little problem of his persisted… 

When he was sure Pansy was fast asleep, Draco carefully rolled her off him. Then he turned on his side and grabbed his cock. He pulled out every fantasy in his register, he used every technique, every difference in pace, pressure, lubrication. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t get an erection.

 _Fucking Goyle!!!_ he thought, for about the thousandth time this week. That stupid prick had _castrated_ him. What if this wasn’t a temporary thing? What if he was impotent forever???

_I’d kill myself._

_But I’d kill him first._

He spent a couple of minutes picturing various ways of murdering his former friend. 

_Maybe it isn’t just Goyle, though. Maybe Voldemort’s plans really have me so stressed out it has physical repercussions._

He frowned. No, that wasn’t it, either. Not the only thing, anyway.

And Draco realised the root of the problem lay much deeper than the traumatic experience at Blaise’s apartment, or even the “thrilling” prospect of hosting a massacre in his own back yard. 

With Pansy softly snoring beside him, he looked up at the ceiling. He knew she was there, somewhere above him in the attic. He wondered how she was doing. Would she have missed him? Subconsciously speaking, of course. He doubted if she even knew he had been watching over her. Her recovery was taking so long. Too long. What if she would be ill forever?

 _No one is ill forever_ , he thought. _Not from an infection. You heal or you die._

That didn’t comfort him in the slightest. On the contrary. The idea of her death was insupportable. He closed his eyes and tried to push the feeling away. 

_She needs to wake up_ , he thought. _She needs to get better._ I _need her to get better._

Draco tossed and turned, and after what seemed like hours, he finally managed to fall asleep.

 

*

 

A part of him realised he was dreaming. The weather didn’t fit. Nor did the location. He was walking on the path towards Hogsmeade, on a hot summer’s day. Hermione was walking beside him. She looked happy and jolly and glowing with health. He was in his school uniform, but she was wearing casual clothes. A pair of jeans and a loosely buttoned checkered shirt that hugged her body. There wasn’t a collar in sight. Her skin was tanned, and her hair showed blonde streaks from being in the sun a lot.

‘It’s too bright here,’ she said. ‘I can hardly keep my eyes open.’ She pointed at a big, solitary oak tree in the middle of a field. ‘Let’s go sit in the shade for a while.’ 

They jumped the fence and walked towards the tree.

‘Hurry up, Draco.’ She spoke his name in the way she could’ve said “Harry” or “Ron”. He could feel the warmth of her smile in the pit of his stomach. The barley was high, and everything looked golden-brown, even the sunlight. The whole world was drowning in the colour of her eyes.

A moment later they were sitting down, with their backs against the tree.

‘Do you think you’ll pass?’ Hermione asked. The sunlight dappled her face. 

‘Pass?’

‘The exam,’ she clarified. ‘Will you pass?’ 

‘I don’t know.’

‘You _have_ to, Draco. Professor Riddle is terribly strict. If you fail, he’ll have both our heads.’

He sighed.

She looked at him from underneath her eyebrows. ‘Say, Draco. You’re not going to disappoint me, I hope?’

Before he could answer, the leaves above them rustled. A snake slowly lowered itself from the branches. It had white skin and yellow eyes. Its tongue flicked out as it tasted the air around them.

‘Well, hello there,’ Hermione smiled. ‘ What are you doing here all by yourself?’

The snake looked at her as if it understood every word she said. She held out her hand, and it crawled up her arm without hesitation.

‘Careful,’ Draco said.

‘Don’t worry. It won’t hurt me. Will you, precious?’

The snake was looking straight at her, its tongue flicking out incessantly. Its bottom half was coiled around her under arm, the other half raised up. Hermione brought the animal closer. Slowly, she pursed her lips and pressed a kiss on its head. 

‘Oh, Draco,’ she smiled. ‘It’s so beautiful. Can I keep it?’

He frowned. ‘Do you know how to handle it?’

She tilted her head as she thought about it, gently caressing the scales of the snake. Its skin quivered under her touch. ‘I can learn.’

Draco’s breath caught. ‘Could you?’ he whispered. ‘Could you really?’

She looked at him, the snake still around her arm. He noticed it became her. Yes, it became her quite well. 

‘Maybe,’ she answered. ‘If you told me you love me.’

The word reverberated through his body. 

‘Tell me you _love_ me, Draco,’ Hermione repeated, whispering. She leant in. The snake crawled upwards, towards her shoulders and neck. A living piece of jewellery. ‘Please, Draco.’ She touched his face. She was so close he could see the tiny freckles on her nose. He moved forward, and finally – _finally_ \- he tasted her. She was sweet, soft, light. 

Pure.

The world narrowed down to only a couple of sensations. The sound of birds chirping in the tree, the sound of her breathing, of his own breathing, as they carefully explored each other. He could smell her. Her hair, her skin. It mixed with the scent of summer from the field around them. Better than any perfume.

They broke the kiss and rested their foreheads against each other, breathing rapidly. Draco could still taste her saliva, drying on his lips. He saw her chest heave as the snake slithered from her neck down to her sternum and then into her shirt. He noticed her jeans had disappeared. She was just wearing the shirt now, her long, tanned legs showing underneath.

He hooked his finger behind the first button and pulled her closer. 

It snapped, and the fire in her eyes flared up.

‘It went lower,’ she whispered.

Draco’s throat got dry. Slowly, he popped the second button.

‘Lower still,’ she insisted.

He couldn’t wait anymore. He grabbed the shirt with both hands and just ripped it open. She gasped for breath and he did too when he saw a simple white cotton bra appear. And knickers as well. White cotton knickers. He had never seen anything so sexy in his life.

The snake was draped around her waist, its head pointing downwards.

‘Shall I get it off?’ he asked.

‘No, leave it. Just leave it.’

His hands still on the lapels of her shirt, he pulled her in. They kissed more eagerly now. It was wetter, hotter, with more tongue. He pushed the shirt off her shoulders. Her skin felt silky smooth under his fingers. Her hands were on him too, picking at his buttons. He pulled his tie off and opened his collar. Her hand slid into his shirt. He leant back against the tree and put his arm around her. She continued kissing him. On his mouth, his cheekbone, his chin and then down towards his throat.

‘Are you sure you want this?’ he whispered. ‘Are you really really sure?’

She looked at him with those warm, brown eyes and repeated for the third time: ‘Tell me you _love_ me, Draco.’

He felt something melt deep inside of him. He parted his lips, but before he could say anything, someone interrupted him.

‘No, Draco, tell me you love _me_.’

He turned his head and saw Pansy sitting on his other side, in her red lingerie set. She leant in and kissed him in her turn. Her taste was more familiar. More earthy.

‘What’s she doing here?’ Hermione frowned.

‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘She’s always sort of around. Sorry.’ 

‘It’s okay,’ Hermione sighed. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She addressed Pansy. ‘Come closer, girl, so I can take a good look at you.’

Pansy leant further forward, across Draco. Hermione grabbed hold of her chin and turned her head in different angles. ‘Her face is a little hard. But still beautiful.’ 

‘Shall I send her away?’ Draco suggested.

Hermione shrugged. ‘No. Now she’s here she can just as well make herself useful.’

Pansy smiled, relieved. She meant to kiss Draco again, but he stopped her. ‘Take care of Hermione first.’

Hermione gave him a grateful smile. She leant back against the tree and they both looked on as Pansy proceeded to straddle her. She seemed a little unsure, but eager enough. Her hands moved along Hermione’s sides, leaving goosebumps where they passed. The contrast between the girls’ skin tones was beautiful. Pansy a pale, rosy white, Hermione all tanned and golden brown.

When Pansy brushed over her tits, Hermione sighed longingly.

‘You may take my bra off,’ she conceded. 

Pansy pulled the straps down but left the bra attached underneath Hermione’s breasts, making them push up a little. The nipples were pointing straight at her. Carefully, Pansy grabbed hold of them and started rolling them between her thumb and index finger. Hermione closed her eyes. She moaned, biting her lip. Her body curved upwards. She reached out and pulled at Pansy’s bra in her turn, releasing her boobs with a snap. They dangled in front of her like ripe fruit, too enticing to resist. A moment later, both girls were feeling each other’s tits, in a much gentler way than any man could’ve ever done. Their little, soft hands sought their way around each other’s curves, thoughtfully weighing and kneading.

Draco couldn’t keep his eyes off it. Mesmerised, he watched as they played with each other, sighing from time to time, so tuned into them he could almost feel their sensations himself. Meanwhile, the snake had started crawling up Pansy’s body. It now circled her and Hermione both, constricting and thus pulling them closer into one another. Their mouths were inches away from each other now. Gently, Hermione pressed a kiss on Pansy’s lips. Pansy shut her eyes and followed where Hermione led. Again, it all happened so sweetly. Draco was almost jealous. He wished he could be that delicate. When he saw them push their pink tongues inside each other for the first time, a soft moan escaped him.

Spurred on by both his and Hermione’s arousal, Pansy started rubbing her nipples against Hermione’s. Carefully, she moved her body up and down and sideways, until she had found exactly the right pace. Hermione’s eyelids fluttered. Her sighs got deeper. Pansy’s did too. Both girls’ nipples were taut and hard now, but the way they brushed over each other was light and tickly as a feather. 

Draco felt his body ache. The desire to be part of all that softness, all that abundance was too much.

Hermione sensed it. She broke the kiss with Pansy, a thin strand of drool connecting them, and turned towards him. ‘Tell me, Draco,’ she begged. ‘ _Tell me._ ’

‘I love you, sweetheart,’ he whispered.

It felt so good to finally say it. So right. It was like he could finally breathe again.

Hermione smiled and put her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close. He kissed her on her open mouth. She made a little sound and pushed her mouth even closer onto his. Her lips were swollen, puffy and wet with arousal. She sucked his tongue deeper into her throat, circling it with her own. He loved being inside of her like that. He wanted to be inside of her in other places too. He wanted to fill every hole, give her as much pleasure as he possibly could.

He moved his hand down, and came across Pansy. She had taken one of Hermione’s nipples in her mouth and was now suckling it in a content, steady pace, kneading the other breast in the same rhythm. Draco put his hand on top of hers for a while, feeling the way she moved, copying and learning from her finesse. Then he let it travel further down over Hermione’s belly. Pansy’s tits brushed over his arm as he reached between them and into Hermione’s knickers. He gasped when he felt how wet she was. His fingers slipped over her clit, straight between her lips. Hermione jolted, and Pansy released her nipple.

‘No, keep going,’ Hermione moaned.

‘Go lower, Pans,’ Draco told her.

Pansy gave him a knowing look. She knew what was expected of her. Softly, she hooked her thumbs in Hermione’s knickers and pulled them off. Draco sighed when Hermione’s pretty little cunt appeared. He moved his fingers back to her clit and then pulled the skin slightly upwards, giving Pansy good access. Hermione moaned and grabbed on to him. She opened her legs wide.

Pansy bent down. She put her mouth on Hermione’s cunt and slowly started eating her out.

‘Oh, God!’ Hermione jerked. She shut her eyes and curved her body, her chest rising with short huffs. Her tits bounced along, pushed up by the bra, the hard nipples pointing upwards. Draco rubbed her clit while Pansy licked her pussy. Hermione grinded her hips to the rhythm. Draco saw the inside of her thighs was getting soaking wet. Pansy’s hips were moving too. The snake had now passed over to her completely. From Pansy’s waist it slithered down in between her legs, its head disappearing into her red silk underwear, making it bulge. It writhed around in there for a while, until it found the leg hole. Then it started coming back out, circling towards the ground. As the snake gradually slid past her cunt, Draco heard Pansy moan into Hermione’s pussy.

His cock was throbbing, the blood making it pulsate slowly. He looked at Hermione’s face. She was blushing with arousal, her pupils dilated, her lips parted. 

She smiled when she saw him looking at her. ‘Do you want me to come in your mouth?’ she whispered. It was strange to hear her speak such a crude sentence. He loved it.

He nodded, unable to utter even a simple yes. 

Hermione tapped Pansy on the shoulder. ‘It’s Draco’s turn now.’ 

They both got on their knees in front of him. Hermione was naked, apart from the bra that clung underneath her breasts, but Pansy was still wearing her knickers. Hermione pulled them off, revealing the girl’s shaved pussy. Draco could see a glimpse of white on the inside of the red fabric, where she had been creaming her pants. He was covered in precome too. He could hardly restrain himself, but he couldn’t bear to take the lead away from Hermione.

‘Are you ready?’ she asked.

He nodded, licking his lips.

‘Lie down,’ she said.

He did what she asked. 

Holding on to the trunk of the tree, Hermione put her knees on either side of his face, while Pansy got in between his legs. Draco couldn’t believe how blessed he was. Hermione’s pussy was directly above him now. He knew what to do. Carefully, he stuck out his tongue and trailed it along her lips. She sighed and leant into the tree. When he reached her clit and pressed the tip of his tongue against it, he could see her opening contract. Her wetness increased. It started dripping onto his chin.

And then, at the exact same moment Pansy took his cock in her mouth, Hermione sat down. 

Draco’s groan was muffled by her pussy. He grabbed her hips, burying his face even deeper into her cunt. She titled her head back and kneaded her own breasts as she started riding him, while at the same time Pansy’s wet mouth pleasured his cock, her small hands tightly holding onto it. 

He felt like he was going to explode.

‘He’s almost there,’ he heard Pansy say, somewhere near the edge of his consciousness.

‘No!’ he gasped.

Hermione frowned at him, not knowing why he had suddenly pushed her up.

‘I want _you_ ,’ he breathed. ‘To come inside of _you_. Please, I’ve waited so long.’

Hermione smiled. Without breaking the eye-contact with him, she waved Pansy away. Then she slid down. Her wet thighs brushed against his sides. Draco could feel her pussy lips around the head of his cock. He could feel her opening, ready to be penetrated.

‘Oh, Hermione!!!’ he sighed, as he pushed upwards.

 

*

 

‘Oh, _Hermione?!?!_ ’

Draco blinked when he looked into Pansy’s furious face. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. The grass underneath him was gone. There weren’t any leaves above him. And the sunshine coming in through the window wasn’t golden, but pale and colourless, like in wintertime.

‘Oh my God!!!’ Pansy screeched, as she threw the blankets off them. ‘You bastard! You utter, utter _bastard!_ ’

She wiped a bit of cum from the corner of her mouth and jumped from the bed.

She was livid, of course. He watched her rant and rave, while she gathered her clothes from last night and tried to comb her hair into shape. But it was like he experienced it all from behind a pane of glass. Or from inside of a bubble or something. He couldn’t feel even a slight spark of shame or worry.

After all, it was just a dream, how could she hold that against him? She’d come around. She always did, eventually. And if she didn’t, well…

Draco couldn’t help it. The only thing he felt when he saw Pansy storm off into the fireplace, was relief. Enormous, sigh-inducing relief. He smiled as he wiped himself clean with the sheets. There was nothing wrong with his body. Everything was functioning as it should be again.

Thank. God.

But it was more than that. It was like something in his mind had cleared up too. Like a weight had been lifted. He leant back in bed, and looked up at the ceiling. And in that moment, he knew. As clearly as he had known she was in trouble before.

_She's awake._

There was only one thought left in his mind now. 

He could do nothing, not so much as take another breath, until he had gone up and seen her.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco’s heart hammered in his chest as he made up the stairs towards the attic. He was in such a hurry he had just thrown his clothes from last night back on. He looked a mess. The pants from his tux were crumpled and his shirt was buttoned down wrongly. He hadn’t even bothered to lace his shoes. But he couldn’t care less. All he could think about was seeing her awake and healthy again. To finally stifle this crippling fear that plagued him for weeks now.

Yet when he arrived at her door, he had to pause a minute before mustering up enough courage to walk in. Suppressing the inexplicable urge to knock first, he grabbed the handle and pushed through. 

He had known she was awake, but it was still a shock to actually see it. He had grown so accustomed to being alone with her in that quiet little room, studying her face as she lay there sleeping, sometimes for hours on end. And now she was suddenly _present_ again.

Hermione was sitting up in bed, propped up against a pillow. A shaft of pale winter sunlight fell on her face. She was staring away from him, at the window. She had heard him come in, but didn’t turn her head. 

Draco stood by the door, frozen. He didn’t know what to say or do. His throat felt tight. Finally, he managed to utter a couple of words. ‘How are you feeling?’

She kept gazing at the window. At the sky, outside.

‘Are you feeling a little better?’ he asked again.

No reply.

‘Can I get you anything? Some water perhaps?’

Again, she didn’t answer, and he could feel his uneasiness growing.

‘I’ll get you a glass of water,’ he decided.

But just as he wanted to turn around, relieved with an excuse to remove himself from the situation, she spoke.

‘I had the strangest dream…’

Draco’s stomach jolted. The hammering in his chest got louder. He could hear it thumping in his ears. Could she have had the same dream he had? That was impossible! 

‘Oh?’ he whispered, breathless.

‘When I was ill,’ she continued. ‘I dreamt...’ He saw her chest rise as she drew a deep breath. Finally, she turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes seemed unnaturally large and dark in her pale face. But she didn’t speak of snakes, or summertime at Hogsmeade, or passionate dealings with him and Pansy.

‘Ron...’ 

The name seemed to hover in the air between them. 

‘He was here with me. He took me in his arms and carried me. And when I fell asleep he stayed here, watching over me.’

Draco didn’t know what to say to that. The silence seemed to cover the room like a thick, dusty blanket. 

Her eyes started glistening. ‘He… he’s really dead, isn’t he?’ It wasn’t a question. More a statement. As if for the first time, the realisation had really sunk in.

Still, she kept looking at him, expecting an answer. Draco swallowed, finding it hard to hold her gaze. Then he whispered: ‘Yes, he is.’

She closed her eyes and nodded, as silent tears started rolling down her cheeks.

It broke his heart.

‘I’ll get you some water,’ he repeated, and fled.

 

*

 

He had only to snap his fingers and summon a House-Elf, but instead he walked all the way down to the kitchen himself. He needed some time to collect his thoughts and compose himself. His hand shook when he held the glass under the tap. He realised he was dreading going back in there. And at the same time, he couldn’t wait. Like a pain you feared, but secretly craved too.

By the time he got back she had thankfully stopped weeping, making it all just about bearable. 

‘Here,’ he said, glad he had found a way to be of some use. ‘This will do you good.’

She licked her chapped lips and took the glass from him. But her muscles were still weak from the long period of inertia, and she spilled when she tried to put the glass at her mouth.

Without thinking, Draco put his hand over hers, to steady it.

Her eyes flashed at him, wary, suspicious, but soon the water took all her attention. She gulped it down, choked, coughed, then started drinking again. In no time she had finished the whole glass. With a sigh, she sank back into the pillows.

‘Better?’ he asked.

She nodded. A slight sweat had formed on her brow again. From the effort, no doubt. He looked at her as she lay there, catching her breath. He had to get up now. There was no reason anymore for him to keep sitting here, on her bed, so close to her.

But it turned out there was.

Suddenly, Hermione sat back up with a jolt. She grabbed hold of his shirt. Draco tried to jump back, but it was too late. She closed her eyes, bent over double, and threw up all over his shoes.

All the water she had just drank came back out, mixed together with strands of yellowish bile. She had drunk too much too soon. After such a long period of illness, her body wasn’t able process it.

Draco looked on with a painful expression as waves of sickness passed through her. She was still holding on to him, squeezing tight every time she retched. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away, though. As she coughed and moaned, he patted her on the back and mumbled it was all right and everything was fine and whatever other nonsense people said in such situations.

When it was all over and she was lying back down, looking as exhausted as he felt, she actually apologised to him. It came instinctively. So deeply routed was her good upbringing. Draco assured her again it was fine, feeling like a complete prat. Quickly, he summoned the House-Elves. They had her and the room cleaned up in no time.

His shoes were ruined, though. He’d never wear those again. Ironically, it was the same pair he’d had her clean with her hair, once. God, that seemed like ages ago, now.

He sighed.

It was probably just as well…

 

*

 

The next couple of days, she got food and fluids in small amounts. That way she managed to keep it all down, and soon she was eating normally again. Or rather, like a horse. Draco couldn’t believe how fast she was recovering. Now her body had decided it was going to survive, it seemed there was no stopping it anymore. 

He always brought her food up himself. For some reason, he could never get enough of watching her eat. And it was a great excuse to visit her, of course. Now she was awake, he could hardly spend the entire day sitting by her for no reason anymore. He found he missed it a great deal. He often wondered what she did up there, all those long, lonely hours. It had to be difficult for her, being alone with her thoughts like that. They sure couldn’t be happy ones. 

_I’ll bring her a book_ , he thought, when he passed through the library one morning. He’d had the idea before, but now would be a perfect time to act upon it. And yet another reason to go up and see her, of course…

Draco wandered between the bookcases, looking for something that might carry away her interest. But he discovered this wasn’t such an easy task. Naturally, he stayed away from the volumes about the Dark Arts, which meant more than half the library couldn’t be considered. Actually, books about regular spells and potions might probably not be such a good idea either. She wasn’t allowed to perform magic anyway, so it would just be frustrating for her to read about it.

 _Maybe something more theoretical then,_ he mused.

His eyes flew over the dark, leather spines. _“Salazar Slytherin: a biography.” “ Fallen morals and the shame of mixed marriages.” “The Mudblood: freak of nature”..._

Draco sighed. He got the sneaky suspicion the Manor’s library was grossly unequipped for a reader like Hermione.

He spent another half-hour in there, getting increasingly fed up, before finally deciding on a book about magical creatures. You could never go wrong with those, right? And he knew she definitely liked hippogriffs, so...

When he entered her room, the book under his arm, he was surprised to see her dressed and out of bed. That was a first. She was standing by the window, looking outside again. 

‘You’re up,’ he said, stating the obvious.

‘Yes, sir,’ she answered, just as superfluously.

‘Feeling okay?’

She nodded.

He held up the book, a little awkward. ‘I brought you something from the library. Thought you might like to have something to read, or whatever.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

And that was it. He was out of topics for conversation. And it was obvious she wasn’t planning to say anything to him out of her own.

He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’ll just leave it here for you then.’ He put the book down on the narrow, iron bed.

She gave him a blank look.

‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ he asked.

‘No, sir. Thank you, sir.’ She turned to the window again.

He bade her goodbye, and when he came back with her dinner that night, he saw the book hadn’t moved.

Nor had it the morning after. Or the night after that.

On the third day, he took it away and brought her a new one. She didn’t comment on it. Nor did she read it.

It became their new ritual. He brought her books and she said thank you and then didn’t read them. By now, she was well enough to start working again, but neither of them ever spoke about that. She just lingered in the attic room, and he let her linger there, too unsure to take any sort of action to stop it. 

She was depressed, of course. Draco had enough insight in human emotions to realise that. It was only natural. Her lover was dead, her best friend was dead, and her other friends were either dead or being mistreated. And what to think of her own situation, tortured for months in the Hogwarts dungeons and then locked into slavery to a family she’d always despised; to a man she’d always despised...?

Draco didn’t know what to do about all that. All he knew, is that he wanted her to read a fucking book. It had become no less than an obsession. He could just order her to, of course. But he wanted her to do it out of her own accord. For some reason, that was extremely important.

 _If I can just find one that will interest her enough,_ he brooded, staring into the fire. _One that will really tempt her to come out of her apathy..._

He had used up all the material in the Manor’s library. It was clear he wasn’t going to find anything there. He needed to look elsewhere. Unfortunately, the shops only carried books approved by Voldemort’s regime, so he could cross that option off. There was always the black market, but that was highly risky, especially for someone in his position.

 _I need a friend to help me out,_ he thought. Who did he know with an eclectic taste in literature? The idea of Goyle with a book was simply laughable. And anyway, Draco didn’t consider him a friend anymore. Nor Blaise, for that matter.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. Of course! 

_Theo..._

God, it had been ages since he had visited the Notts. It was so easy to forget about them. Theodore had always been a bit of a loner. Even back at Hogwarts he had mostly kept to himself. But Draco had always seen eye to eye with him. They had a similar background, they understood each other. There was a mutual respect there.

 _Theo’s nose is always in a book,_ Draco recalled. He and his father were heavily into the study of magic of all sorts and types. They had a library that shrunk the Manor’s in comparison.

Draco jumped up and got his coat, excited at the prospect of seeing Theo again, and of finally getting his hands on something that Hermione might actually like.

 

*

 

The Nott’s chief house-elf greeted him heartily. ‘Young Master Malfoy! To what do we owe the pleasure, sir?’

‘I’ve come to see Theodore.’

‘Certainly, sir. He’s in the gardens. If you’ll follow me.’

They walked into the cold winter air. Draco immediately spotted Theo’s tall, lanky figure at the far end of the grounds. He was in the middle of a lively conversation with another man, both of them bent over a blueprint, and gesturing at a large wooden construction next to them. The man had his back to Draco, but his straggly ginger hair was unmistakable.

‘We need to raise the main support, Theo, or it’ll never hold,’ Bill Weasley said.

Draco raised his eyebrows when he heard Bill call Theo by his given name. 

At that exact moment, Theo’s dark-circled eyes caught sight of him. ‘Draco...’ he lisped. ‘What are you doing here, my old friend?’

Bill looked around and frowned when he recognised Draco in his turn.

‘Just paying you a long overdo visit. And the hope of maybe borrowing a couple of books from your excellent library?’ Draco answered, bouncing Bill’s impudent stare right back at him. At least one Weasley who was still in good shape, by the looks of him. No new scars, no signs of malnourishment or abuse. Draco wasn’t surprised. Theo was no maniac.

Theodore shook Draco’s hand, while his clever eyes darted from him to Bill and back. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Be my guest. I always forget how nice it is to have company from time to time. I get so caught up in my work, you know.’

‘What have you been up to then, these last couple of months?’ Draco asked, with a look at the wooden construction. It seemed to be a framework of some sort. And a really big one at that. ‘New project?’

‘Me and Father are studying Ancient Egyptian curses. Bill is helping us build an exact a replica of Amenhotep’s sundial. His experience in the field in priceless. Although we’re not quite there yet.’ He glanced at the thing skeptically.

Draco nodded, impressed. So that was why they had chosen Bill for their servant. 

‘But what about you?’ said Theo, as he draped an arm around Draco’s shoulders. ‘The library, eh? I’m intrigued. I never really considered you to be much of a book-lover. Is it a Potions book you want? Have you got a new project, too?’ He grinned, showing his slightly crooked teeth. 

Draco shrugged. ‘You could say that, I suppose. It’s not a Potions book, though.’

‘Oh?’

‘I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. But I’ll know it when I see it.’

‘Hm.’ Theo didn’t press him any further. ‘Well, let’s go inside and have some tea first. Then the library is all yours. Are you coming, Bill?’

But Bill ignored him. Instead, his pale blue eyes bored accusingly into Draco’s. ‘How’s Hermione doing?’ There was nothing in his voice that could be mistaken for politeness.

Draco looked him up and down, incredulous Bill had the audacity to address him in such a manner. ‘I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,’ he said, his voice oozing with disdain.

‘She was my brother’s fiancée, Malfoy, of course it’s my concern!’

‘Bill...’ Theo warned.

‘She and Ron were never engaged!’ Draco snapped, a lot more passionate than he had intended to. Apparently, it was actually possible of being jealous at a dead person. 

‘What have you and your sordid family done to her? Is she still alive, at least?’

‘Bill!’

Bill glanced at his master and subsided, albeit reluctantly. With a revolted look at Draco, he turned to the blueprint again. ‘You go on, Theo,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ll pass on the tea. I don’t care much for the company today.’

 

*

 

‘I must say,’ said Draco, as they were sitting in the drawing room. ‘You allow that Bill quite some liberties.’

Theo shrugged. ‘Bill is bound to us by the collar, but we consider him more a friend than a slave, really.’ When he saw Draco’s expression, a slight smile crossed his face. ‘You seem surprised at my candour. Me and Father don’t get many visitors, so it isn’t a problem, usually. And I thought I could take the risk of telling you. You’ve always been a friend of our family. Or am I mistaken, and are you going to denounce us to Voldemort now?’ His smile widened into a grin, but Draco noticed a tiny bit of concern in his eyes too. Theo was testing the water, and much more daringly than he himself would ever have.

Draco raised and eyebrow. ‘Your secret it safe with me.’

Theo sat back, relieved, and stirred his tea. ‘It’s not easy, is it, nowadays? Knowing one’s position in the world. You learn so much about yourself. And others...’ He glanced at Draco. ‘We’ve got a section with banned books, I suppose that is what you’re really here for?’

Draco blinked, surprised at Theo’s insight.

His friend got a key from him is jacket pocket and put it on the table between them. ‘This will give you access.’

The smart thing would be to deny it all. But instead, Draco whispered: ‘Thanks.’

‘Is it for yourself, or, someone else?’ Theo inquired.

Draco hesitated, but only for a second. He wasn’t prepared to take the same risk Theo just had. ‘I really can’t say.’

‘Shame,’ Theo answered slyly. ‘I could have perhaps given you a recommendation.’ But instead of teasing him or trying to pry the details out of him, he just took another sip from his tea and said: ‘Like I said: it’s never easy, is it?’

Draco relaxed. ‘No,’ he confessed with a sigh. ‘It sure isn’t.’

 

*

 

Later, alone in the giant, cavernous library of the Notts, Draco found himself wondering why he hadn’t visited Theo sooner. Quiet and shrewd, Theo was a man of few words but much understanding. After months of drinking and brawling with that boorish Goyle and insufferably haughty Blaise, it had been a real delight to be in the company of someone with real interests and content, for a change. Someone intelligent. Someone remotely _normal._

The Notts’ library was a good reflection of their character. As Draco had expected, the banned section held a much bigger variety in titles and topics than the regular Voldemort-approved bullshit. Theo had really taken a chance in giving him the key. Some of the books here could get him and his father in a lot of trouble. Draco spotted a biography of Godric Gryffindor. He would take that one with him. Hermione had probably already read it before, but if nothing else, it might at least score him some points for goodwill. There were some volumes about the history of magic in Britain that sounded so boring she would probably go crazy for them, so he took them too. And suddenly, his eyes fell on a title that sparked his own interest. _The Tynesdale witches: Muggle-born brides of Slytherin._ He pulled the book off the shelf and flipped through the pages. It was a biography about three sisters. The first Muggle-Borns ever to have been sorted into Slytherin House. 

Draco couldn’t believe it. He had never heard of a Mudblood in Slytherin! He looked at the dates. It figured, they were from just before his father’s time, and had moved to the US after graduating.

There was no question why this book was on the banned list...

Draco bit his lip and hesitated, trying to imagine if Hermione would care for it not. Maybe she would be angry; the title was a bit suggestive, of course. 

_Well, at least it doesn’t say Mudblood brides,_ he thought, with a shrug. He decided to take it. She might want to read it. You never knew.

When he walked out of the library, Draco felt quite pleased with himself. He couldn’t wait to see Hermione’s reaction. This time he had high hopes of actually getting through to her. 

He had already said his goodbyes to Theodore after tea, so he headed for the fire-place right away. But near the bottom of the grand staircase that descended to the hall he bumped into Bill, who was just coming up.

Immediately, Bill’s face clouded. ‘Oh, it’s you again. I thought you had already left.’

Draco knew he should feel offended at that, but really, Bill Weasley was the last thing on his mind right now. 

‘I’m just going. Tell your master I’m grateful for the books, will you?’

‘Hm,’ said Bill.

They crossed each other on the stairs. 

And suddenly, in an impulse, Draco turned around and said: ‘And she’s fine, by the way. Hermione, I mean.’

Bill stopped short. He was a few steps higher than Draco now, and Draco could see the scars near his neck and chin from where Fenrir Greyback had mauled him. The expression in Bill’s eyes changed. ‘Really?’ he asked, wary and hopeful at the same time. Suddenly, his voice sounded so much like Ron’s it gave Draco the chills.

‘She’s been a little under the weather,’ he rather sugar-coated the truth. ‘But she’s much better now.’

‘Oh, good.’ Bill blinked as he let this information sink in. Then he took a hesitant step down, towards him. ‘And what about... what about Fleur?’ He whispered her name, desperate. ‘She went to Crane. He’s a friend of your father’s, isn’t he? Have you heard anything about her? Or about Ginny? Have you seen Ginny? Please. Theo and old Mr Nott don’t get out much, I’ve hardly any news here.’

He was standing so close now that Draco thought Bill might grab him by the lapels, like some despondent person in an old-fashioned play. It was really quite sad.

Draco hesitated. He didn’t know about Fleur. He hadn’t seen or heard anything about her. Crane seemed to have stowed her away deep in his castle, far from jealous eyes. No wonder, the girl was a jewel. But how could he tell Bill about Ginny? About the transformation in her face and demeanor? 

_The bride of Voldemort,_ he thought, inadvertently.

‘I haven’t seen either of them,’ he lied.

‘Oh...’ Bill sighed, his shoulders drooping. But it was clear a part of him was relieved too, at not having received any bad news, at least.

Draco couldn’t help but feel for him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘If I ever do, I promise I’ll let you know, okay?’

Bill’s eyes lit up. He nodded.

‘Give my regards to Theo,’ Draco repeated. Then he descended the last few steps and turned the corner into the hall, eager to get home.


	10. Chapter 10

‘I’ve got something new for you today,’ Draco announced, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘I think you might like these ones better.’ He put the small stack of books on Hermione’s nightstand. He had decided to give them to her all at once, making sure to put the one about Godric Gryffindor on top.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Hermione said, like she always did. She was standing by the window again. That seemed to be her preferred spot.

‘I got them from Theodore Nott’s library,’ Draco explained, trying to make her realise this was a big deal. That he had done something out of the ordinary, a little bit dangerous even, especially for her. ‘Theo has a really good collection.’

‘Thank you , sir,’ she repeated, sounding just as disinterested as before.

Draco bit his lip. He had to get a reaction out of her, he just had to.

‘I saw Bill when I was there,’ he ventured.

Hermione snapped her head around. ‘Bill...? Bill _Weasley?_ ’

‘That’s right.’

A series of unreadable emotions passed across her face. ‘Oh…’ she whispered. She turned around again, hugging herself as if she were cold, shoulders pulled high. ‘I didn’t remember he went to the Notts. That whole day, the day when Ron...’ She shook her head. ‘It’s a blur to me.’ 

She fell silent, lost in thought. 

The minutes crept away.

‘Bill looked well,’ Draco finally said. ‘Theo is a pretty decent guy.’

Hermione didn’t say a word. Only stood there, with her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

‘He asked about you, you know,’ Draco made a final attempt. ‘Bill, I mean.’

‘Did he?’ she spoke to the window.

‘Yes, quite passionately, too.’

‘And what did you tell him, sir?’

‘That you had been ill. But that you were doing much better now.’

Her shoulders twitched in a silent scoff. ‘Is that so?’ She spoke softly, but the bitterness in her voice was unmistakable. 

Draco frowned. Instinctively, he took a step towards her. ‘Well, I certainly hope so,’ he said, worried. ‘Are… are you still unwell, Hermione?’

She gave him a brief look from the corner of her eye, then moved a little to the side, away from him. She turned her attention to the window again. ‘I’m fine, sir, ’ she replied, in her usual flat tone. 

Draco could feel disappointment settling in his stomach, heavy and cold. Even now, at hearing good news about a friend, she didn’t react. Not really, anyway. And she hadn’t so much as glanced at the books.

 _I give up,_ he thought.

‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ he concluded, by way of habit. And for some reason, he added: ‘Speak frankly.’

That was a direct order, and Hermione obeyed it without a second thought. A consequence of the emotional state she was in, no doubt.

‘Yes, there is something you can do for me!’ she fumed, turning around, hands balled into fists, eyes suddenly blazing. ‘You can get out of here and leave me the hell alone! I don’t want your books, I don’t want your stories about what’s going on out there, and I sure as hell don’t want your company! Don’t _ever_ come here again!’ She all but screamed the last part.

Draco looked at her, stunned.

Panting, Hermione stood before him. Her eyes grew big as she slowly started to realise what she had just said. But then her nostrils flared and she pointedly set her jaw, showing she stood by every syllable.

Draco knew enough. He tipped his head in a cynical bow and said icily: ‘As you wish, madam.’ 

Then he turned and left, determined never to set foot up there again.

 

*

 

He should punish her, of course. Make her pay for turning him down so cruelly, so utterly heartlessly. His father would’ve had the flesh whipped from her back if she, an underling, had ever dared to speak to him in such a manner. But Draco came to the baffling discovery he didn’t feel angry at all. Not really. He felt, he _felt..._

Hurt.

There you had it. It was hard to admit, but that was exactly it. She had fucking hurt his feelings, like he was some love-sick schoolboy or other, still wet behind the ears. And instead of striking back like he ought to, like he _used_ to, in such situations, he just let it all slide, thinking up excuses for her, even. 

He didn’t understand what was happening to him. It was like he didn’t recognise himself anymore. The next couple of days, Draco just idled around the Manor, not knowing what to do with himself. Nothing seemed to interest him. He couldn’t focus on his potions, the conversations between his parents, his food, his broomstick, nothing. Going round to Blaise’s or Goyle’s wasn’t an option, of course, and he was actually glad Pansy was still mad at him and giving him the silent treatment. Not being subjected to her inane chatter felt like a surprise holiday.

From time to time he considered visiting Theo again, but he always rejected the idea immediately after. Theo would ask after his books, and those were still in Hermione’s room. And he would rather die than go crawling back up there! He might not have been angry, but he still had his pride.

The days seemed endless without her. The nights were even worse. By day five, Draco couldn’t take it anymore.

He resorted to desperate measures.

He was lying in bed, flat on his back, and staring up at the ceiling. He had waited until the dead of the night, until the whole Manor was quiet and dark, and Hermione was in her deepest sleep— or at least, that was what he hoped, anyway. The spell he intended to use was surprisingly uncomplicated, but it didn’t avoid her from waking up during the process, so he had to be extremely careful. He had put out all the candles in his room, and even the fire in the hearth, so the light wouldn’t wake her. Only the curtains he had left open, letting the full moon paint the room in silver and blue.

He listened one last time, intently, to make sure he couldn’t discern the slightest sound in the attic room above. This was it. He was really going to do it…

Slowly, Draco raised his wand and whispered the incantation.

At first, it seemed like nothing was happening at all. But then, the ceiling above him started to morph. A speck appeared, that gradually grew larger and larger. A dark shape started sinking though. Draco’s lips parted when he saw Hermione’s sleeping figure appear. She was floating on her side, a little curled up, like she had been lying in her bed, just moments ago. He guided her further downward with his wand, and the ceiling closed above her. Carefully, he turned her over on her stomach, until she was facing him. 

She hovered above him now, still sleeping, suspended in the air like she was floating under water. She looked like something out of a dream, so silent, so serene, drifting horizontally in the silver moonlight, her hair and nightgown billowing around her.

It was pretty creepy, of course, what he was doing. He realised that. But then, he was a pretty creepy person. He hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin for nothing. He was a Death Eater, for fuck sake! Besides, he had no choice. He had grown so accustomed to gazing at her still, sleeping face when she was ill, that he couldn’t give it up now. Being away from her had only increased his desire for her. He simply had to see her, or he’d go mad.

 _What is about her?_ he asked himself, as he lowered her a little further. _Why does she affect me so?_ She was beautiful, of course, in an unkempt sort of way. But then many girls were pretty. He doubted if Luna or Ginny, or even Parvati, could ever have had such a profound impact on him as Hermione had. Was it the fact she was completely at his beck and call? Or was it that she was a Mudblood, and it was all so forbidden? Why _her,_ specifically? What kind of secret magic did she possess to make him feel this way?

His eyes trailed along her features: the pronounced eyebrows, her long, dark lashes, now closed, her little nose and lovely mouth. That mouth… It could be so cruel, but it could be so kind too. He remembered how it had curled into a smile, when he had given her her first good meal. How it had felt, on the inside, when he had fed her the pear; that slight rasp of her tongue when she had closed her lips around his thumb. The mere image of it tugged at his chest, made him feel like he was spinning.

He felt it somewhere else too.

Draco bit his lip as the sensation in his cock intensified. It wasn’t his lust that had made him bring her down here, but he found it stirred regardless. He couldn’t help it. Just looking at her was enough to make him rise to the occasion, sort of speak. He suddenly became very aware of his free hand, lying on his stomach, above the sheets. He didn’t move it down, though. That would have been… well, yes, creepy, but more than that. 

_Inappropriate,_ he thought.

Of course, he jerked off to her plenty, —multiple times a day, even; that was one pastime he hadn’t lost interest in; he was only human, after all— but he drew the line at doing it while she was actually present. He was creepy, but not _a_ creep. Not like that poor sod Crabbe, wanking behind the bushes every time the girls went to the lake for a swim in their knickers and bras. Even Goyle had thought such behaviour beneath him. No, he would wait until she was safely back in her own bed. You had to have a little class about these things.

Although she did look so very lovely, in the light of the moon…

Draco held his breath and let Hermione descend even further towards him. Underneath the white, cotton nightgown, the shape of her breasts and hips showed as the fabric floated upwards and clung to them. The dark shadows of her nipples betrayed he had been mistaken in supposing they would be pink. 

_Brown ones. Definitely brown._

He felt a new surge of heat spread from his belly. Her face was only inches away from his. Her lips, so close… God, what if she were to wake up now? He’d die of shame. And yet it was exciting too, the idea he could be discovered at any moment. He was so hard it physically hurt.

He remembered what she had asked him, in the dream he’d had.

 _…Tell me you_ love _me, Draco…_

He had.

And it had felt good.

 _So_ good, to just give in.

 _If I could only touch her now,_ he thought. _Kiss her. Just once..._

For a fraction of a second, he really considered it. The desire was so strong, like a rolling, swelling wave. A force of nature. He held his breath, moved her just a little, tiny bit closer…

Hermione jerked in her sleep. 

Draco started terribly. He swept his wand. The gesture was hasty and uncontrolled, but luckily, the spell wasn’t too sensitive. Hermione went flying back up, fast, but level; the ceiling morphed and closed around her, and just like that, she was gone. It had all happened so fast, it was like she had never been in his room at all.

Panting, Draco lay in bed and gazed up, his stomach clenched tightly. There was a strange taste in his mouth. Fuck!!! Had she woken up? Had she _noticed_ anything? He couldn’t be sure. It seemed like it had been nothing more than a sleep twitch, but...

He pricked his ears, intent on the littlest of sounds. Five minutes passed, then ten. 

But just when he thought he was in the clear, there came a little knock at the door.

Draco’s blood froze in his veins. He waited, holding his breath, hoping he had by some miracle imagined it. But soon, another knock followed the first. A little louder this time.

He cleared his throat. ‘Yes?’ 

Slowly, the door creaked open. Hermione appeared, her nightgown a white dash in the dark blue shadows. ‘Did you send for me, sir?’ she whispered.

‘Send for you?’ he repeated, still sounding a bit hoarse.

‘I thought I heard you call. I was asleep, so I can’t be sure. But the collar reacted, so…’ She made a helpless gesture.

Draco couldn’t believe it. Jesus! Had his desire for her been so strong it had triggered the collar without an explicit command?

 _It’s like when I knew she was sick_ , he realised with a start. Only the other way around, this time. This time, it was _she_ who had felt _him._

Draco gazed at her as she stood there. She seemed a phantom in her white nightdress, her eyes two dark pools in the moonlit room.

He could have simply told her it was a mistake. That he’d called out for her in a dream or something. But instead, he heard himself whisper: ‘Come closer. Into the light.’

She stepped in front of the window. In the direct moonlight, he could clearly see the outline of her body underneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. Much more than before, now she was standing upright. She was cold, her nipples were stiff. God, she was beautiful. So beautiful...

And so terribly afraid. 

Hermione was breathing rapidly, her hands fidgeting at her dress. No wonder. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the reason why he could have called her to his room, in the middle of the night.

‘Won’t you come in bed with me?’ Draco started almost as much as Hermione did. The words seemed to have slipped out of his mouth all on their own. What was he doing?! He couldn’t _do_ this, could he?

I can do whatever I want with her, a cold voice from somewhere deep inside him spoke. The realisation sent a shiver up his spine.

Hermione froze. She was looking straight at him now, her eyes wide and shimmering in the darkness. ‘Please,’ she breathed. It sounded so soft, you could barely call it a whisper. ‘Please, master, don’t.’ In her terrified state, she had reverted back to the more submissive form of master instead of sir.

It aroused him. Gold help him. Even now, even after everything that had happened, her fear still aroused him...

‘What’s the matter? Are you frightened I might force myself on you or something?’ He had meant to scoff, but there were so many conflicting emotions raging inside of him, that it came out sounding serious and constrained.

She raised her eyes to his, then immediately cast them down again, telling him that was exactly what she was frightened of.

There was a silence. He saw her breath come out in little, silvery puffs. The room was glacial, without the fire burning.

‘Come on,’ he whispered, his tone softer now. ‘You’ll catch your death standing there. My bed is warm and you are welcome in it. I won’t lay a finger on you, I promise.’

But he got the distinct feeling neither of them believed a word of what he had just said.

‘Please…’ she begged again. Her voice trembled, almost broke. 

But it was too late. He had made his decision. There was no turning back anymore.

‘Get in bed with me, Granger,’ he ordered flat out.

Hermione’s shoulders jerked as she let out a single, defeated sob. She closed her fists on the fabric of the nightdress, inadvertently looking for something to hold on to. She started approaching the bed, slowly, head bent, like a witch walking toward the burning stake. Draco lifted the blankets for her. Without looking at him, she slid between them.

She smelt of softness and warmth; of the sleep she had been pulled away from, not moments ago. Draco’s heart was pounding against his ribs. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, stiff as a board.

He had but to pull her near and press his lips against hers. To reach out, and close his hand around a breast, feel the nipple rise up even firmer under his touch. To roll on top of her, and _take her._

 _Take her,_ his body screamed. _Take her, TAKE HER!_

For a moment, it was so quiet it seemed like the room itself was holding its breath. 

Then Draco whispered: ‘Good night, Hermione.’ And he turned on his side, away from her.

 

*

 

It took forever. But then, finally, Hermione’s breathing slowly, hesitantly, started to calm down. The warmth of the bed got to her. The softness of the pillows and mattress. She even dared to move now, just a little; shifting her body until she was comfortable.

She fell asleep.

He didn’t.

Draco heard the sound of his own heart beating, slow and steady, as it pumped the blood through his veins. He felt very conscious of himself, of his body. That he was really inside of it. A person, with a mind and a personality and feelings, bound to this flesh shape. Just like she was, too.

He had wanted to take her, oh yes. But he never would have. Not like this. He could never have hurt her that much. Besides, he had been too busy fighting another desire completely. One that trumped his lust tenfold, and that had been much _much_ harder to resist.

He finally understood now, why a part of him had enjoyed hitting her, that day in the library. Why that same, tiny, twisted, insane part got off on seeing her openly afraid. The simple reason was that her discomfort fed into his desire to _console_ her. He realised that was all he really wanted to do, all he had longed for from the moment she had arrived in the Manor – and even before that, on Doom’s Day.

He didn’t know if he would ever be able to. If she wasn’t beyond all that. Of course, he could have forced her in his arms, ordered her to put her head on his chest, just now, like he had secretly craved. Who knew, maybe it would have even done her some good. A human touch, after months devoid of physical affection. He had hesitated, had been on the brink. But a little voice inside him had told him that wasn’t the way to go. That it would have been just as useless as forcing her to read the books he brought her. It simply wasn’t up to him. He had no right. _She_ needed to decide, and he could only wait.

 _I will,_ he thought. _Wait. For as long as it takes. Even if it never comes._

When he had failed to kill Dumbledore, years ago, Draco had felt like a weakling. And that feeling had never quite left him anymore. But he didn’t feel weak now. On the contrary, he felt eerily calm. Mature, almost, as he listened to Hermione breathing deeply, steadily, behind him; the sign she trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him.

He didn’t know what the morning would bring. If she would resent him for all of this. There was a good chance she would. But he knew that for him at least, it had been worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

He must have fallen asleep at some point, for the next morning, Draco awoke from the pale daylight coming in through the window. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. The curtains were still open. He’d forgotten to draw them last night.

_Last night._

Hermione…

He looked to the side, then jerked up with a start. She was sitting on top of the blankets, her legs folded underneath her, staring intently at him. Jesus, that was creepy!

He sat up proper and leaned back against the headboard. She shifted a little, to give him space. He saw she had pulled the plaid that lay on top of the covers snugly around her shoulders. He slept in his trunks, and with his upper body exposed to the room, he noticed how cold it still was. He grabbed his wand and cast a spell to light the fire. It roared up in the hearth, its warmth immediately felt.

‘Been awake long?’ he asked, his voice still gruff with sleep.

‘Not long.’

‘It’s the curtains. I forgot to draw them.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He cleared his throat and shot her a quick glance, trying to make out her mood. He was feeling a lot less self-confident this morning. In the harsh light of day, his actions of last night seemed all the more scandalous. He should say something. Try to explain why he had done what he had done, if such a thing was possible.

‘Look, Hermione…’ he began. 

But before he could think of how to continue on from there, she cut him off. 

‘I’ve been in this bed before, haven’t I?’ Her expression was neutral, unreadable.

The question took him completely by surprise. ‘I, uh…’

Hermione tilted her head to the side now, her gaze following her hands as she let them trail over the blankets. ‘I _have_ ,’ she repeated, pensive. ‘Yes, I remember it very clearly now.’

Draco waited, his heart throbbing in his throat. 

She looked straight at him again, her eyes a golden brown in the soft morning light, and said: ‘It was you who carried me up from the cellar, wasn’t it? When I was ill. You put me here, in your bed. That dream I had about Ron, it really happened. Only it wasn’t him, but _you._ ’

Draco looked away. The memory of that night stirred up a range of emotions of an intensity that was hard to bear. He scratched his eyebrow with a thumb, stalling, while he tried to think of an appropriate answer. How would she react to this information? Would she be disappointed? Mad, even? Maybe he should lie, and say it was the House-Elves that had carried her up. 

‘Yes,’ he spoke. ‘It was me.’

She nodded gravely. ‘I thought so.’ 

She remained silent for a moment, then asked with a frown: ‘Why didn’t you tell me, though?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Hm.’

They sat together for a while, neither of them speaking.

‘Hey, look,’ Draco finally said, not able to support the uncomfortable silence anymore. ‘I just want you to know that— that you won’t be expected to sleep here again, okay? With me. In my bed, I mean. I shouldn’t have done that. Forcing you to stay here. I…’ He fell silent, trapped in his own words. Apologising wasn’t something Draco Malfoy had much experience with.

She gave him a strange look. Again, he realised he had absolutely no clue what she was thinking. It was extremely unsettling.

‘I mean, you _can_ still sleep here if you want to, obviously,’ he added, with a snort. A failed and completely inappropriate attempt at a joke. Immediately, he felt his face flush. Jesus, what the hell was he doing? ‘But why would you ever want that, right?’ he tried to salvage the situation, meanwhile getting the distinct feeling he’d only made it worse.

_Stop. Talking. Now._

Hermione didn’t react. Just kept looking at him, with those doe-eyes, as if he was something under a microscope that she was vaguely apprehensive about having to dissect later on. 

With a sigh, Draco rested his forearms on his knees and leant his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes. Why was this so difficult? He knew what he wanted to say, why couldn’t he find the words? 

_It’s the emotions. They’re screwing with my head._

He took a deep breath, forcing the muscles in his shoulders to relax, and tried to recapture that feeling from last night, when he had been so calm and sure, so much more like an adult. 

To his surprise, it worked.

He opened his eyes again, then caught her gaze and held it, unflinching this time. ‘I’m sorry, Hermione,’ he spoke, his voice calm and steady. ‘About last night. About…’ He shook his head. ‘…everything.’

Something shimmered in the depths of her eyes. It was there and then gone, like a lifting shadow, so quick and subtle that he wondered if he’d imagined it.

She didn’t reply. He understood. After all, what did his apology really mean, when weighed against all she’d had to endure? It seemed so futile it was almost an insult. The best he could hope for was that she at least recognised he was being sincere.

‘All right,’ he concluded, saving her the trouble of having to end the conversation. ‘Go ahead now.’ He gave a nod at the door of his ensuite. ‘You may bathe first today.’

But she shook her head. ‘No, thank you, sir. I have gotten used to washing myself at the sink in my room.’

‘Oh.’ Disappointment rushed in on him, sudden and unwelcome. He suppressed a bitter smile. Of course. What had he expected? That she would cuddle up close now, and say: ‘Oh, sir, I’m so happy you’ve decided to stop being such an asshole to me! Now I can finally admit I’m violently in love with you. Come here and take me, comfort me, do all with me that you will. We can take a bath together, yes, I’ll be more than happy to soap your back. And don’t you dare be sorry, for there’s nothing to forgive. If anything, _I_ was the one being the bitch, _I_ should apologise to _you!_ ’ 

He scoffed at the absurdity of his thoughts. What a fool he was, clinging to shadows. Hermione didn’t want anything from him. No apologies, no consolation, apparently not even the comfort of a bath anymore. And why would she? She’d disliked him in school, and she disliked him now. Hated him, more likely, after all that had happened. It was only logical. A simple case of cause and effect. Nothing personal.

And still it _felt_ personal.

_It’s you. You’re the one making it personal. You’re doing this to yourself, like some strange form of self-flagellation. You expect something from her that she can’t possibly give. Do you want to be punished, Draco? Is that it?_

‘May I go, sir?’ Hermione requested, thankfully unaware of his inner turmoil.

Absently, he gestured it was all right.

She got up off the bed.

‘No, keep it,’ he told her, when he saw she made to return the plaid. ‘It’s cold in the corridors.’

She nodded and pulled the blanket closer around her, then started to walk towards the door. But when she got there, she seemed to hesitate. With her palm on the handle, she turned around and said, out of the blue: ‘I read those books you brought me.’

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Really?’ he blurted out.

‘Yes.’

‘Oh. Well. I’m very happy to hear that.’ 

She shrugged, suddenly a bit self-conscious, it seemed. ‘I’d read most of them before, of course. The one about Godric Gryffindor is my favourite, actually.’ A smile, faint, but unmistakably _there_ , flashed across her face. Quickly, she straightened her shoulders and continued: ‘And I’ve got a first edition of the series about Magical History at home. But I— I really liked that biography, the one about the three sisters?’

He nodded, afraid to speak, to move even; anything that might keep her from continuing to talk.

She smiled again, relieved he knew what she meant. ‘There’s a sequel. About their life after they moved to America.’ She paused for a moment. Then she ventured, awkwardly: ‘If the Notts have that one too, I’d be glad to read it. Or any other books you can bring me. You— you’re always welcome to stop by my room, sir.’ She raised her eyes to his, the brown darker now, in the shadows near the door. ‘If you like.’

The last three words had been merely a whisper, and Draco felt something pull at him, deep inside his chest. Before he had a chance to answer, she had already left, softly closing the door behind her.

It was the most she’d ever spoken to him out of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for all your kind comments, and sorry for the long wait. The next update will follow very soon, I promise.  
> xx


	12. Chapter 12

Something had changed between them.

It was subtle, but unmistakable.

That morning, Hermione reappeared in the breakfast room after weeks of absence. Silent and inconspicuous in her black skirt and blouse, she stood by the wall and awaited his orders, just like she had done before she got sick. Draco didn’t give her any, afraid his words might betray him. For he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak harshly to her anymore, and even though Lucius had barely noted her return, he could see his mother shot her a discreet but sharp look. He didn’t want Narcissa to get the final confirmation of what he was afraid she suspected already.

But Hermione simply walked up to him and poured his tea anyway, unsollicited, as if she’d read his mind.

Over the next few days, her presence in the Manor became more apparent again. She started coming down from her room more and more. Sometimes, it almost seemed like she was following him around a little bit. When he glanced over his shoulder, he often saw her, dusting this or that, readjusting a painting, or picking something up off the floor. One day, after he’d gone out, he returned to find her in his room, curled up with a book in the chair by the fireplace, as if she’d been waiting for him.

It was very odd. 

It was without a doubt very dangerous. 

And he liked it very, very much. 

Lately, every breath he drew seemed to carry him more oxygen than before. The world seemed to have opened up. Things suddenly made sense again. There was energy in him now; the will and interest to do things, to look into stuff, experiment with his potions, get up, get dressed, eat and drink and live. 

After being forced to miss her for so long, he finally felt complete again. 

And he could feel _her_ too…

Her heart beat in the Manor’s walls; the warmth of her body crept down through the ceiling, enveloping him as he lay in his bed. When he walked into a room and she was there, the air seemed thicker. There was a vibration, a tremor in the atmosphere, that intensified the closer she got. After a while, he could almost sense her presence with his eyes closed. Even determine the part of the house she was in, when they were apart.

It had to be the collar. There was no other explanation. The thing that bound her to him was slowly binding him to her as well. The effect had manifested itself before, during moments of intense emotional upset. He had sensed she was in trouble, that night when she had fallen ill, and he had sensed when she was awake again. But it had evolved into a constant, skin deep feeling now, that grew steadily every single day.

_It’s a sign she’s opening up to me,_ he thought.

Or rather, he hoped.

For even though he caught a glimpse of her emotions now and again, and in spite of their conversations—however fleeting and limited—, he still couldn’t read a single one of her thoughts. 

She was, and still remained, a complete enigma to him.

When had this happened? When had his fear of wanting her morphed into the fear of her _not_ wanting him?

‘I’d like stories, this time,’ she requested, when he was about to make another visit to Theo’s. ‘Fiction.’

By now, she was working her way through the books he brought her so fast, he had to make a weekly trip to the Notts. Draco almost felt like he was on Team Sundial, seeing Theo’s pet project progress steadily with each passing week.

‘I don’t know if they have much fiction in their collection,’ he answered. ‘It’s mostly scientific volumes, biographies and the likes. You know the deal. The stuff I usually bring.’

She tilted her head. ‘Hm.’

He felt a twinge in his stomach at her disappointment. Was there a way around this? Well, he could always ask her to…— but no, then Theo’d know.

_Like he doesn’t already,_ Draco scoffed inwardly. You didn’t need to be smart to see what was going on, and Theo was smart.

He decided to risk it.

‘Why don’t you come with me?’ he suggested. ‘Then you can choose for yourself what you would like to read.’

She shot him a quick, startled look. ‘Come with you?’ she stammered.

‘I’m sure Theo and his father wouldn’t mind. And Bill would certainly be very happy to see you. He asks after you every single time.’

She looked away, rubbing her arm, her shoulders suddenly tense. ‘No, I—‘ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s too soon.’

The pain in her eyes hurt him, as it always did. ‘All right. Sorry. I will go alone and see what I can find.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

He searched his mind for something else to say, to postpone the moment of departure for a couple of seconds longer. But he couldn’t think of anything, so he concluded: ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

‘No. Or rather… Well, _yes,_ actually.’

Draco arched his eyebrows. This was new. ‘Tell me.’

‘I should very much like to go outside, sir.’

‘Outside?’

She nodded.

‘But it’s freezing.’

She cast a longing look in the direction of the attic window. ‘I haven’t left this house in months. I want to be out in the open, breathe in fresh air, feel the sky above me once again.’ She looked into his eyes and whispered: ‘Please, sir.’

Draco didn’t know if he liked this idea. But he knew it was simply impossible to resist her pleading look. ‘All right then,’ he gestured. ‘Why not.’

Her face lit up.

‘But make sure to wrap up warmly, I don’t want you to fall ill again.’

‘I will.’

‘And you may take a walk around the grounds, but I’d rather you don’t leave the property. It’s not that I don’t trust you or anything, but it’s not safe out there for… for a girl like you. You understand, don’t you?’

She gave him a quizzical look. ‘But sir,’ she spoke, frowning. ‘You _are_ planning on coming with me, I hope?’

 

*

 

They walked together. Side by side, her right shoulder a couple of inches from his left. Little specks of ice, too slight to be called snowflakes, floated about them. There was no wind and the sky was of a dull, dove-grey. A heavy sky that seemed to bear down on them like a dome, muffling the sounds below. The woodlands around the Manor were always quite dreary, even in summertime, but there was a silent, icy sort of beauty in them today. It was stone cold, too cold for real snow, and the thin layer left on the ground and on the trees had turned to frost. The result was a world of white. 

_It seems like winter will never end this year,_ Draco thought, with a sigh. Soon, Voldemort would return from the North, and all the horrors would come with him. Then these woods would no longer be white, but red and muddy with blood...

Next to him, Hermione’s breath clouded in the air. She hadn’t said a word since they left the Manor, her brow creasing ever deeper, it seemed. He wondered how she would react when she found out what was being prepared for here. The idea of her in combination with Voldemort’s plans sent a violent surge through his body. Instinctively, he started walking a little closer to her, as if his presence alone could protect her.

She glanced at him, her face dark, and he got the distinct feeling like she was getting ready to say something. Like she was preparing to broach a subject that was difficult for her.

He was right.

‘I’m sorry I can’t come with you to the Notts, sir,’ she began.

‘Oh, that’s all right.’

‘No, I would’ve liked to. It’s just… I can’t handle facing Bill. Not yet. I—’ She paused, searching for words.

He frowned when he heard how upset she sounded. He halted and turned to her. ‘Hermione,’ he spoke. ‘What’s wrong?’

She glanced up at him, almost guiltily. Her lip trembled when she admitted, with a little voice: ‘I’m so ashamed.’

‘Ashamed? What for?’

She gave a helpless shrug.

He took a step towards her. ‘Don’t be afraid. You can tell me.’

‘I _can’t,_ ’ she whimpered. ‘It’s too awful.’

An uncomfortable feeling began squirming in his belly. ‘Hermione, you’re really starting to get me worried here. Please, tell me what’s going on.’

She swallowed, then took a deep breath, her eyes darting to his and back again, wary. ‘When you came into my room that day… With the books. Remember? When you told me about Bill… that he was all right and having a reasonably good life with the Notts…’

He gave an encouraging nod. 

‘It was such good news,’ she smiled, her eyes filling up. ‘And yet, the first thing I could think of, the first thing that crossed my mind…’ She shook her head, like she couldn’t believe it herself. When she continued, her voice was rushed and high-pitched, the words tumbling out of her mouth as if she couldn’t wait to expulse them from her body. ‘The first thing I thought was: Why couldn’t _Ron_ have gone to them? Why didn’t they choose _him_ instead of Bill? I wanted Ron to live, not him. That’s why I yelled at you. That’s why I cast you out. I was angry at myself more than anything. Oh God, I’m— I’m turning _evil!!!’_ She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears in a gesture of pure drama.

Draco stood perplexed. He was so stunned he almost laughed. ‘Evil?’ he repeated. ‘Oh, Hermione, that’s not evil.’

‘It _is,_ ’ she blubbered pitifully.

‘No, it’s not.’ And he added, with a scoff. ‘Trust me, I know.’

She snapped her head up at him, suddenly fuming. ‘You’re _laughing_ at me!’

Quickly, Draco wiped the smile off his face. ‘Not at all.’

‘This isn’t funny!’

‘No, no, of course not.’

‘I love Bill,’ she sniffled. ‘He’s part of my family. And still, _still_ I wished him dead.’

‘You didn’t wish him dead. You wished Ron to be alive. That’s not the same thing.’

She pulled up her nose and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘It’s _loathsome._ ’

He shrugged. ‘It’s just human nature.’

‘We’re not animals. We have a moral duty to rise above our nature.’

Draco sighed. This was just so… He didn’t even know where to begin, the essence of the matter was so obvious to him. How could he make her understand? ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ he tried. ‘There are very few people that would’ve thought any differently in your situation, and a whole lot that would’ve thought much worse.’

She lifted her chin, and in that instant, she had never looked more than the Hermione Granger he had known at Hogwarts. ‘You can’t live your life by what someone else does or doesn’t do,’ she proclaimed. ‘Everyone is responsible for their own soul.’

But Draco wasn’t impressed. He arched his eyebrows. ‘Hermione,’ he whispered, holding her gaze. ‘Don’t you think _Bill_ would have picked Fleur’s well-being over yours if he’d had the chance?’

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, then blinked a couple of times. ‘Well, that’s… that’s beside the point.’

‘Is it?’

‘Of course it is.’

‘Just ask yourself this: would you judge him harshly for thinking that way?’

She fell silent for a moment. ‘I—I suppose I wouldn’t, no.’

He shrugged. ‘Well, there you go.’

She glared at him, a disgruntled look on her face. But her tears had dried. ‘It still feels wrong, though,’ she stated, for the record.

Draco suppressed another smile. ‘Yes, of course.’

She seemed somewhat appeased. As if she had still succeeded in making a point.

‘Come on,’ he said, with a gentle—and what he hoped came across as harmlessly amicable—touch on her arm. ‘I think we better head back. It’ll be getting dark soon.’

She shrugged. ‘ ’kay.’

They started walking down the path again. Draco was astounded at the way her mind worked. She was so different from anyone he knew. In the face of all the darkness around her, it was her own morality she had been fretting about. Talk about high standards! He was sure glad he wasn’t a Gryffindor. All those lofty ideals could seriously weigh a person down. Not exactly handy, when you knew there was plenty of actual real, concrete stuff to worry about…

‘I’m glad we came,’ she sighed, after a while. Her tone was stable, matter-of-factly. ‘I feel better.’

She actually looked better too. Like some of the air had cleared around her. The crinkle between her eyebrows had smoothened out. He nodded. ‘Then I’m glad too.’

She scoffed, shaking her head as she continued: ‘It’s so weird, though, when you think about it. For such a long time, in the dungeons at Hogwarts, and here too—well, in the beginning anyway—it was like my mind could only focus on the bare minimum: food, water, shelter from harm. The basics for survival, really. Like I _was_ an animal. There simply wasn’t the energy to deal with all that other stuff, you know? To come to terms with what happened to me, to my friends…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s only now—now that I feel safe—that I’ve had the time to really start grieving.’ She narrowed her eyes at him, looking to see if he grasped what she was trying to express.

‘Yes, I think I understand,’ he muttered, although he realized he probably never really would. Some things you could only truly fathom if you had lived through them yourself.

_Imagine losing her,_ a voice inside his head whispered, but the pure dread that emerged was so overwhelming he violently pushed the thought away again.

She looked into his eyes, her expression softer now. ‘Thank you for giving me that time, sir.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he whispered, feeling awkward and silly and stupidly happy at the same time.

They walked on in silence for a while, and he couldn’t help but relish in what she had said. That she felt safe. Safe, here with him…

They rounded a bend in the path, and suddenly, Hermione stopped dead in her track. ‘Oh, Draco!’ she huffed, grabbing his hand. ‘Look!’

The shock of her touch rushed up his arm like a sudden current, and reverberated through his entire body. She had called him by his given name, instinctively, in the same way she would’ve addressed a friend. Touched him, all out of her own. It moved him so deeply, it took his breath away.

‘Look,’ she repeated, squeezing his hand. ‘A deer. Oh, just _look,_ how _close!_ ’

The doe was standing right in front of them, just off the path, between a couple of holly bushes. It didn’t move, it didn’t spook, it just kept standing there and staring at them, almost as curiously as they were staring at it. A creature wild and free, and at the same time so delicate and fragile.

‘Oh, isn’t it beautiful?’ Hermione breathed.

Draco looked at her face. Her cheeks pink from walking in the cold, her curls dappled with tiny specks of ice, eyes warm and brown as the doe’s coat and filled to the brim with rapture. He marvelled at her ability to still experience a sense of wonder, after all she’d lived through. And in turn, he felt that same sense of wonder take him over.

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘She is.’

He didn’t know how long they stood like that, hand in hand in the winter forest. It could have been a couple of seconds, it could just as easily have been hours. Then, the doe softly turned and disappeared, leaving them to each other.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, Draco felt pulled into her, like she was calling him with her eyes. But then she averted her gaze, a slight smile on her lips, and they continued along the path, without a word spoken.

She was still holding his hand. Her palm was chilly, and at the same time it burned in his, chasing away the cold, both outside and in.

Time seemed to move too quickly now. In the distance, the Manor already came into sight again.

‘Hermione,’ he asked.

‘Yes?’

‘Would you call me by my name? When we’re alone, I mean. Instead of sir.’ He shrugged. ‘I’d like that.’

She didn’t give him an answer straight away. ‘Tell me,’ she said, tilting her head, ‘when I was sick and you carried me up to the attic, did you stay and watch over me too?’

He didn’t know why it was still so hard to speak about that. He shrugged, unable to get the words over his lips.

She glanced at him, almost slyly. ‘For how long?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You _do_ know.’

He moved his shoulders. 

‘Long?’ she insisted.

‘Yes. Long.’

‘And often? Tell me how often.’

‘Whenever I could.’

‘I felt it.’ She squeezed his hand, tightly now. ‘I felt you were there, _Draco._ ’

Again, the sound of his name on her lips. Her mouth curving around those letters. It was breathtaking. He wanted to hear it over and over again. To hear it repeated on other occasions, with other intonations, to hear it _sighed._ He smiled at her, completely devoid of all sarcasm or inhibition. It probably looked ridiculous, but he couldn’t hold it back, and he didn’t want to. The gesture seemed to come from deep within, from the very pit of his stomach, as did the feeling coupled to it.

She smiled back. Freely, warmly, _promisingly._

At that exact moment, the shadow of the Manor fell over them. And it was like the weight of every single brick bore down on Draco at once. Instinctively, he gazed up. By the windows on the first floor, a shape was visible.

Quickly, Draco released Hermione’s hand.

But it was too late.

The curtains moved slightly, as Narcissa retreated deeper back into the house again.


	13. Chapter 13

The next few days passed in an uncomfortable lull. Almost like the Manor itself was lying low like some great beast, waiting for the storm to break. Draco sensed it in every cell of his body. A faceless danger that hovered in the shadows above him, making his nerve endings prickle. He knew he should keep Hermione at a distance, that it would be the wisest thing to do right now, but he just wasn’t able to. The way she had taken his hand. The way she had said his name… Now they had finally connected, he simply couldn’t cut the bond again. And deep down, he knew it was too late anyway. His mother had seen what she had seen, and the consequences would inevitably follow. He had no clue as to what form they would take or how far they would go; he was just going to have to deal with the situation as it presented itself. In the meantime, he tried to enjoy Hermione’s presence as much as he could, while he still had the chance.

When the moment finally arrived, on the Saturday, it somehow still managed to catch him off guard. 

The day had started with a rare treat: after breakfast, Lucius had invited him to tag along to his gentlemen’s club. Draco had been there before, but only once, since he was too young to be an actual member, so it wasn’t without a sense of self-importance that he stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron now, at his father’s side. It was snowing a little as the both of them headed out into Diagon Alley. The street had much changed since Voldemort had come to power. Almost all the old shops had been taken by merchants from over on Knockturn, or similar types. They tailored for everything a dark wizard could need, and Draco couldn’t help but feel that the neighbourhood had greatly improved. As they strode down the lane towards The Lord Wizard’s Club, people acknowledged them with nods and bows and taps to their hats, hurrying to make way for the infamous Malfoys. Lucius and Draco passed them without returning a single greeting; there was no one of consequence among them. Still, the grovelling of the rabble seemed to have lifted Lucius’ spirits. Genially, he put an arm around his son’s shoulders.

It was at that point Draco realised something was up. His father wasn’t the type to show affection in public. Or in private, for that matter…

‘Tell me, boy,’ Lucius began. ‘How’s life treating you?’

Draco gave his father a wary look. ‘Fine…’ 

Lucius lifted an eyebrow. ‘Well, that’s not what I heard.’

Draco’s stomach clenched. ‘Oh?’

Lucius released his hold on Draco’s shoulders and sighed: ‘It’s your mother. She’s worried about you, son.’

‘Why on earth would she be worried?’ Draco scoffed, as if he had no idea what his father was talking about.

‘She tells me you’re not acting like yourself lately,’ Lucius continued. ‘That you barely leave the house, and when you do you refuse to tell her where you’ve been. That you hardly spend time with your friends anymore—’

‘My friends are scumbags,’ Draco snarled, his own passion taking him by surprise. The affair at Blaise’s clearly wasn’t digested yet.

Lucius gave his son a curious glance. ‘Really? You never seemed to mind before. And what about Pansy? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen anything of her.’

Now it was Draco’s time to sigh. ‘Pansy…’

Lucius raised his eyebrows. ‘Did you two fall out?’

Draco shrugged vaguely.

‘Oh, I see, been flirting with Gregory or Blaise, has she? _That’s_ the reason why you’re mad at your friends, aren’t you?’ 

Draco didn’t react. He had only one thought in his head: how to remove himself from this insupportable conversation. But his father was only just getting started. ‘Look, boy,’ he said magnanimously. ‘Love is a complicated matter, but Pansy will soon see the error of her ways. She’ll come back; they always do. In the meantime, this is no reason to fling yourself into the arms of that vile Mudblood.’

Draco’s throat closed off. There you had it. This was what his father had been working towards all along. Despite his best efforts, he could feel the blood rise to his cheeks.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Lucius said, a knowing smile around his lips. ‘I understand. Your mother doesn’t, but I do. After all, you’re young, it’s only natural you’d want to experiment a little, play around and such. Boys will be boys, eh? Just answer me this.’ He stopped and looked Draco square in the eye. ‘You haven’t… _debased_ yourself with the creature, have you?’

‘Of course not!’ Draco hurried to answer.

Relief crossed Lucius’ pale face. ‘Good,’ he nodded. ‘That would have been… problematic. Anyway, I knew you wouldn’t stoop to such a level. You’re a Malfoy, after all.’

They made the turn towards the Club and Draco nurtured the idle hope that would be the end of it. That by some miracle, he’d be off the hook this easily. But Lucius wasn’t quite finished. ‘The moment of the Gathering approaches,’ he reminded Draco. ‘As we discussed with the Dark Lord, there will be a new slave auction held. An excellent opportunity to get rid of the Mudblood, if you so desire.’

‘No,’ Draco answered.

‘Think about it, son. Goyle tells me Gregory has taken quite a shine to her. As I recall he even bid on her the first time, didn’t he? I’m sure your friend would be more than happy to take her off your hands.’

‘No!’

Draco stopped dead in his track, his fists balled, the colour in his cheeks deepening to an angry red. Instantly, he knew he’d made a mistake. Up until now, Lucius had believed the situation to be rather innocent, but now Draco could see his father hesitate, frowning at this violent reaction. Oh, God. Where was his head at?! He should’ve played it cool, not giving too much away! It was just the idea of Hermione with Goyle… It was so unbearable, it tapped directly into his rawest emotions.

He cleared his throat and tried to salvage the situation as best he could. ‘No, Father, I… I like having her around,’ he explained. ‘Not because I fancy her or anything — I mean, please! — but it feels good to humiliate her, to finally put that bitch in her place, you know? Make her realise she isn’t at Hogwarts anymore.’ 

Lucius eyed him over. ‘Hm.’ 

For the moment at least, he seemed appeased.

Father and son continued on, bridging the last few meters to their destination. The hulky and blackened façade of the historical building that was the Lord Wizards’ Club loomed above them. Even with its window ledges caked in snow, the thing still managed to look menacing.

“THE WIZARDING WORLD’S FINEST”, read a copper plaque by the door.

As they made up the steps to the entrance, a charm alerted the house-elves of their approach. Had Lucius not been a member, something else entirely would have been alerted…

The door swung open. ‘Welcome, Master Malfoy,’ the female house-elf greeted. Women weren’t allowed, but for house-elves the rule didn’t apply. ‘And young Master Malfoy. What a great day it is for you!’

Draco frowned as he handed the thing his scarf and coat.

‘Feebly is right, son,’ Lucius announced, a gleam in his cold eyes. ‘Today, you’re officially becoming a member.’

 

*

 

The other senior members welcomed him like a long lost friend. There was booze, there was lots of slapping on backs and shoulders, cigars were being handed out and everything was truly very convivial. Draco couldn’t believe his luck. There was no record of one so young ever having been admitted to the Lord Wizards’ Club — but then he’d been the youngest ever Death Eater too. His father’s influence had surely helped a great deal, yet Draco realised that bit by bit he was becoming a man of true influence in his own right. The world as it was now, under Voldemort’s reign, lay wide open to him.

There was only one little problem, though…

Her hand in his.

His name on her lips.

That look in her warm, nut brown eyes…

 _Can I still belong? Did I_ ever _belong?_

Draco started from his thoughts when he felt an arm around his shoulders again. ‘Come, boy,’ Lucius winked, in a conspiratorial tone. ‘I’ve got a little surprise for you, a gift, to mark this joyful event.’ He snuffed out his cigar in the ashtray Feebly was holding up, then led the way towards the big staircase. Draco followed, his curiosity mixing with a sense of impending doom as the other men started whistling suggestively. He cast his father a sideways glance, but Lucius’ face betrayed nothing. They went down a corridor and into an enormous library, then took a back passage behind one of the decorative panels. This led into a smaller, darker corridor, lined by a series of mahogany doors. Lucius opened the second one and they stepped into a cosy, richly decorated bedroom.

And there, by the crackling fire, sat Fleur Delacour-Weasley.

She rose from the heavily stuffed foot-stool to greet them. ‘Welcome, _milords,’_ she spoke, with a slow, elegant curtsy. She was wearing an almost translucent grey dress that seemed to sparkle slightly, like an aura around her.

Draco could feel the bottom drop out of his stomach. The room, the fireplace, the big four poster bed, and the breathtakingly beautiful girl in front of him.

The situation was obvious.

‘There,’ Lucius announced. ‘What do you say to that?’

Draco just stared. Fleur Delacour. The queen of his masturbation fantasies. He’d jerked off to her during his entire fourth year at Hogwarts, and even now she was one of his golden oldies. She had made him feel what it meant to be truly _intimidated_ by a woman. He had been so in awe with her— the fact she was older, her dazzling beauty, the admiration she got from all the other boys at school — that he had sometimes even fantasised about her and Krum together rather than writing himself into the plot, feeling she was so far out of his league he couldn’t handle even imagining it. 

It was a mystery to him how a girl like that could’ve ever ended up getting married to a Weasley. Still, he supposed Bill was the least awful one of the lot…

‘Crane let me have her for an hour or two,’ Lucius explained. ‘Cost me the shirt off my back, but I suspect it’ll be worth it, wouldn’t you agree?’

When Draco didn’t reply, he insisted: ‘Well, boy, speak up!’

‘I… I thought women weren’t allowed in here?’ Draco finally stammered.

His father’s laugh was short and snide. ‘Not as members, no. But when they’re entertainment, they’re more than welcome.’

Draco didn’t want to think about what this possibly meant for his parent’s marriage, something he had always considered sacred and beyond reproach. Quickly, he pushed the thought away.

‘Speechless, are you?’ Lucius concluded. ‘Well, I guess it’s to be expected. It’s not every day you get treated to something like this. Or should I say, someone.’ He turned to Fleur. ‘Come closer, my dear. Let us take a look at you.’

Fleur bowed her head politely, and walked up to them. ‘Yes,’ Lucius whispered, between his teeth. He put the handle of his walking stick under her chin and lifted it to inspect her face. Fleur didn’t meet his eyes, nor Draco’s, just stared straight in front of her. ‘Look, Draco,’ Lucius continued, his voice low with some visceral emotion. ‘Have you ever seen such quality? That bone structure, those eyes, that natural ashy blonde hair. She’s simply perfect. Quite a change from that depressing brown-haired Mudblood of yours, hm?’

Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest. Now she was standing close, Fleur’s charisma was almost palpable. ‘But Father, what— what about Pansy?’ he tried. ‘I don’t want to mess things up with her even more.’

Lucius’ eyes were riveted to Fleur. He was walking around her now, taking in every aspect of her physique, circling her like a predator. ‘Oh, Pansy’ll understand,’ he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘After all, it’s only natural for a great man to have one or two women on the side.’

Draco pulled a face. Where had he heard that before…

Lucius got behind Fleur now and put his hand on her shoulder, just at the base of her neck. He locked gazes with Draco, and spoke coldly: ‘Or is it _another_ girl you’re fretting about?’

The meaning of his words was crystal clear. The threat that lay in them. And suddenly, Draco realised that not his membership to the Club, but this thing with Fleur was the whole point of their trip. This was the consequence of what his mother had witnessed, that day in the woods. His clever father was putting him to the test, right here and now.

_If I refuse Fleur, he’ll know what Hermione really means to me._

And then he’d send her away. Give her to Goyle. He could do that. Technically, Hermione belonged to Draco; her collar was fashioned to make her obey him and him alone, but Lucius was still the master of the Manor. If he decided she had to go, there was nothing Draco could do about it.

Sweat started prickling on Draco’s brow, while his father moved his hand along Fleur’s shoulder. The silver strap slid down, revealing a perfect, pink-nippled breast. It did something to him, Draco couldn’t deny that. She was just so beautiful. Fleur turned her head to the side now, shy. ‘Mademoiselle, vous êtes ravissante,’ Lucius whispered in her ear. He cupped her breast, then licked the side of her neck in one luscious movement from bottom to top, relishing her taste as a vampire did blood.

‘Father,’ Draco bit, grabbing Lucius’ arm. ‘What about _Mother?’_ And he made sure to put a clear threat in his own words now.

The two men stood opposed to one another, Lucius keeping his hand firmly in place on Fleur’s breast, Draco holding on to his father’s lower arm just as tightly, with the girl squeezed in between them, her head averted, frozen but breathing hard none the less. Draco could feel her ribcage rise and fall against his chest.

He held his father’s gaze, then whispered: ‘She’s _mine._ You gave her to me. I _want_ her for my _own._ ’

Something flickered in Lucius’ eyes. Disappointment, but pride also. It wasn’t the answer he had hoped for, but in a way this was even more satisfying to him. A faint smile appeared on his lips. ‘Spoken like a true Malfoy.’ He nodded and released Fleur’s breast. ‘You have two hours. No more. I’m paying Crane enough as it is.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ Draco forced from his lips.

Then Lucius left the room, and he was alone with Fleur.

 

*

 

Fleur stood there, looking up at him, one breast still exposed. It was clear she didn’t dare put the strap back in place without his permission. Back at Hogwarts Draco would have felt too awkward to even approach her, but his adrenalin was still high from the face-off with his father, and in a reflex he grabbed the strap himself, intending to do it for her. It was thin as a spider’s thread, and he couldn’t avoid touching her skin, silky smooth under his fingers.

His gesture was interpreted differently by Fleur. She seemed to snap out of her confusion, and back into the role that was expected of her. Her mouth curled in a pleasant, yet slightly distant-looking smile. Discreetly, she pushed up closer, her breast brushing his chest now, the nipple growing hard. Draco’s body reacted. He couldn't help it.

‘How may I serve you today, _milord?’_ she inquired, in that throaty voice of hers. It was clear she had been in this situation before. In spite of what Draco had believed, the possessive Crane was whoring her out on occasion. But then he was notoriously greedy as well. Apparently, his lust for gold trumped his jealousy.

‘Don’t worry,’ Draco assured her. ‘You’ve nothing to fear from me.’ Carefully, he placed the strap back on her shoulder, covering up her breast. 

She frowned at him, confused. ‘What do you mean?’

Her French accent sent chills up his spine. God, she was mesmerising. The rumour about the Veela blood had to be true.

‘I expect nothing from you, okay? You may be at ease these two hours.’

She blinked her long lashes, the frown deepening. ‘Do I not please you?’

Draco scoffed. ‘Of course you please me. How could you not?’

‘Then why won’t you make use of me?’ It sounded almost plaintive.

He was at a loss. Was she _asking_ him to sleep with her? Why on earth would she do that?

_Maybe she has been influenced too. Like Ginny and Parvati…_

If Fleur had taken the side of her master, he had to be careful. He couldn’t tell her the truth; she might report back to Crane.

‘I want to stay true to my girlfriend,’ he lied.

But as he spoke the words, he realised there was truth in them none the less. Only it wasn’t Pansy he wanted to stay loyal to… The situation was completely bizarre. Draco had never been faithful. Apart from his parents’ marriage which he had idealised as a child, he believed monogamy to be a utopian concept that only existed in the female mind. But now the woman of his dreams was offering herself up to him on a platter, his thoughts inadvertently trailed off to Hermione. Hermione, who wasn’t nearly as beautiful. Hermione, who was difficult and confusing and who he hadn’t so much as kissed before. Hermione, who he could never truly _be_ with…

Fleur gave him a dazzling smile. ‘ _Oh, chéri, vous êtes si charmant._ Your lady doesn’t need to know. I can show you things she’ll benefit from later. If anything, she should be thanking you.’

‘No, really, I can’t…’

Without further ado, Fleur let the dress fall to her feet. Stark naked she stood before him now, her skin gently shining, gleaming, as if to lure him in.

She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

‘I—’ he sighed. ‘I—’

He didn’t get any further. Fleur put her long fingers over his lips. They felt like water on his skin, her touch cool and smooth, and he couldn’t help closing his eyes. She was a fairy-princess, a siren, the ultimate whore. He hadn’t been touched by a woman that way since he and Pansy’d broken up, and when Fleur put her mouth on his, he felt a surge of pleasure bounce through his body like a firework. Her tongue was soft and wet as it pried his lips open; she tasted of honey and salt. Her hand travelled downwards, and closed around his hard cock. He felt her smile against his lips. ‘There now, _Dràcco,_ ’ she whispered, as she rubbed him through the fabric of his pants. ‘You know you want me. I want you too. Oh, yes, I’m dying for you. Take me, _milord._ Use me. _Fuck_ me.’ 

It would have been so easy to just give in. So _convenient,_ to just content himself with the idea she really did want him; that she wasn’t being forced into this. And up until a couple of weeks ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated, not for a second. But he wasn’t the same person he had been a couple of weeks ago. The times of convenience were over, never to return.

‘I can’t. No, I _can’t!’_ With an almost superhuman effort, Draco pushed Fleur off him.

She stumbled back, stunned. The sultry look in her eyes evaporated like smoke, and made room for something else. 

Desperation.

She wasn’t in league with Crane after all.

‘He’ll punish me...’ 

It came out quiet and trembling and not at all befitting a woman of her fortitude.

‘I’m sorry, Fleur,’ Draco said. ‘But you can’t fool me. You don’t want me, not the way you should, anyway. I can’t do it. Not like this.’ He picked her gown up off the floor and handed it to her. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Get dressed now.’

She clutched the gown at her chest, her hands crumpling the fabric, her grey eyes wide with terror. ‘Please, _milord,_ have pity,’ she begged. ‘Take your pleasure with me. It’s not such an ordeal to me as you might think. It can’t be worse than what he’ll do to me if you don’t…’

Draco shook his head, confused. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her, with an encouraging smile. ‘Your master will never find out. I won’t tell him, I promise. You can trust in me.’

She met his eyes, a bitter expression in her own, and scoffed: ‘Oh, he will find out.’

‘But how could he possibly?’

‘He… he _checks_ me.’

Draco frowned. ‘What?’

She took a deep breath and said: ‘He considers himself a great mage of the sciences. He likes to research, always fidgeting and prodding and prying. I’ll go in the chair after this; when I return to the castle.’

‘The chair?’

Fleur gave him a cold look that didn’t fit her sweet appearance at all. ‘The chair for female studies.’

An image of an awful, gleaming metal contraption with hooks and bolts and strange attributes sprang to Draco’s mind. His stomach turned. The thought of Crane’s small, watery blue eyes. His pointy tongue that was always flicking out, wetting his lips.

_The dirty old pervert._

‘He’ll know we’ve not had intercourse,’ Fleur continued. A strange detached tone had crept into her voice now. ‘He’ll know I’ve not been penetrated. He ordered me to show you and your father a good time. He’ll punish me for disobeying him.’ She nodded. ‘Oh yes, he will. I’ll be put in the _other chair_ then…’ Her voice trailed off and her gaze turned inward, her mind already busy with the unspeakable horrors that lay ahead.

Draco pressed his lips together.

Great. Just perfect.

Why oh why, did the universe always conspire against him? Why was making the right decision so fucking hard? He had thought he was doing a good thing by turning Fleur down, but now it seemed he was only condemning her to a fate that was far worse. Why were things always so _complicated?_

He sighed.

Well, he supposed he could always fuck her. It wouldn’t be difficult. Not from a physical point of view, anyway. He could even soothe his conscience since it would all be for the greater good, sort of speak. But he found that now he had made the decision not to, it was kind of disappointing having to come back on it. Like he had just been given a medal, and was now asked to return it.

Go and show them a good time, Crane’d said.

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

‘Fleur,’ he asked. ‘What did Crane tell you to do, specifically?’

She tilted her head, confused.

‘I mean, what were his _exact_ words? Because if he ordered you to show me and my father a good time, wouldn’t your collar be contracting right now? My father’s gone.’

Fleur’s eyes narrowed as she guessed his intention. ‘His exact words?’ She thought about it for a moment or two. Then she repeated, embarrassed: ‘Crane said: “Go with Lucius. He wants to treat his son. He’s paid solid gold for you, so be a nice girl and do as he says. I want you to really make an effort. Come back…’ She hesitated.

Draco raised his eyebrows, encouraging her to go on.

She took a deep breath and continued: ‘…come back _filled to the brim._ ’ She turned her head, an expression of disgust and humiliation on her pretty face.

‘Right.’ Draco cleared his throat and quickly moved on. It wasn’t important, anyway. 

Something else was.

‘He didn’t say I had to be the one though, did he?’

‘He implied it.’

‘But he didn’t explicitly order it.’

Fleur gave him a quizzical look. ‘No, I guess not…’

Draco stifled a sigh. Then he admitted, grudgingly: ‘I think I know a way around this.’

 

*

 

He would see through the situation, of course. Immediately. The setting wouldn’t leave much to the imagination. 

_God,_ Draco thought, as he stepped out of the fireplace and into the Nott’s entry hall. _He’s going to knock my teeth out._

It was a deranged idea. One that could only end in a complete disaster. Bill wasn’t the meek type. He wouldn’t just follow along and stay calm. Not when discovering his wife in the position she was currently in.

Still, Draco heard himself asking the house-elf to take him up to Theo anyway. 

‘Ah Draco, in need for more books?’ his friend said with a wink, as Draco entered the study. ‘I was just planning to head to the library myself.’

‘I’m not here for books,’ Draco said curtly. ‘I’ve come to borrow your servant.’

Theo looked at him in surprise. ‘Who, Bill?’

Draco nodded.

‘What do you need him for?’ 

‘There’s no time to explain. Plus the matter is of a somewhat… delicate nature. I’m afraid you’ll just have to trust me.’

Theo sat back in his chair, his brows knitted. ‘Is it absolutely necessary? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Bill isn’t exactly keen on you.’

Great. Even Theo wasn’t sure Bill would behave.

‘I know,’ said Draco. ‘But he’ll have to come with me none the less. We won’t be long. An hour or so. An hour and a half, tops.’

Theo gave him a wary look, but he summoned Bill anyway.

‘Go with Draco,’ he ordered flatly. ‘Obey him as you would me.’ Thereby effectively handing the control of Bill’s collar over to Draco. At least that was something. 

_He won’t be able to physically hurt me. And if it really comes to it, I can choke him back into line,_ Draco thought. Still, it was a meager comfort. Bill’s eyes were blazing.

‘Where are you taking me?’ he growled, as he followed Draco down the stairs to the hall. ‘What is the meaning of all this? I demand an answer!’ He was furious at having to obey a man he despised this much.

Draco ignored him, raising Bill’s temper even more. His face was pink with anger.

At the fireplace, Draco stopped and turned around. ‘All right,’ he said, as he tried to think how to put this. He decided it was probably best to keep it vague. Fleur could explain things to Bill herself once they got there. 

_Jesus…_

The absurdity of his idea struck Draco again, full on. Why was he doing this? Why did he care about these people, anyway? Why would he take such a risk? There was no telling what Bill would do when he found out. He’d flip, most likely. And then the shit was really going to hit the fan. 

But Draco just drew a deep breath and said: ‘I’m taking you to see someone you know.’

The expression on Bill’s face changed. A hesitant curiosity mixed in with the anger. ‘Someone I know?’ he repeated.

Draco nodded. ‘Yes. But I need you to promise me you’ll stay calm. I need you to keep it together when you see her. If you draw attention—‘

‘Her?’ Bill started. ‘What do you mean: _her?_ ’

‘If you draw attention,’ Draco continued staunchly, ‘you’ll get us in a world of trouble. You’ll get _her_ into trouble, all right?’

The colour on Bill’s cheeks drained almost as fast as it had risen, leaving a nervous, almost sickly pallor. ‘I—’ he began, stuttering.

Draco took a step towards him, and looked him deep in the eyes. ‘All right?’ he repeated, sharply.

Bill exhaled, then nodded, grudgingly.

‘Good. I will take you on your word. Come along, then.’

Malfoy and Weasley took each other by the hand, and stepped into the fire.

 

*

 

It had been awful. One of the worst experiences of his entire life, right up there with the events at Blaise’s apartment, even though those had been of another nature entirely. Bill hadn’t gone berserk. On the contrary. He froze when they stepped into the small bedroom at the Lord Wizard’s Club and he had seen his wife. Paralysed with emotions, unable to move for fear he would chase away the mirage of Fleur standing there, right in front of him, within his reach. 

It was she who had finally run to him, collapsing into his arms, speaking to him in French, saying all sorts of things Draco had no desire to hear whatsoever.

There was no escape. He had been forced to stay in the room. The risk of his father or any of the other members knocking on the door and him not being there to answer was too great. He’d had to remain there, even when Fleur and Bill had gone to the bed and done their business. It was a strange way of putting it: doing their business. But somehow, Draco couldn’t bear to put it into words. He wasn’t of a prudish disposition, to say the least. He swore and cursed and knew every foul word, but this he couldn’t name. No, not this. He’d witnessed other people having sex before. Many times. Hell, he’d fucked happily along with them. A group thing wasn’t something that made him blush. And yet he couldn’t bear this. Fleur had closed the curtains on the four-poster, so he hadn’t even _seen_ them, but he still couldn’t bear it. Not this.

He had sat on the stool in front of the fire, forced to overhear their sighs and moans and sobs, and all the little things they whispered to each other, and he had closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears and wished himself miles away.

It had seemed to last forever. The minutes and seconds creeping by.

When it was finally time to leave and he had gone to the closed curtains and awkwardly mumbled that they had to be getting back to Theo’s, Bill had been crying like a baby, for he knew very well what he was giving his wife back up to. His quiet, defeated sobs embarrassed Draco beyond words, and he had averted his gaze as Bill and Fleur said their impossible goodbye’s, all the while cursing his decision, wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to just sleep with Fleur himself, rather than to subject the both of them to such an ordeal.

Then the fire again, followed by the dark, cool hall at Nott House with its high-vaulted ceilings. Bill hadn’t said a word, his eyes unfocused, still wet, still seeing the events that had just come to pass.

‘I’m sorry,’ Draco had blurted out in a whisper, not able to hold back anymore. ‘I’m sorry I had to put you through this.’

Bill’s gaze had fixed on him, suddenly present again. When he had stepped forwards, it had been with such determination Draco had involuntarily recoiled. But Bill had only grabbed his hand, pressing it firmly, and said: ‘I will never forget this. Never. Whatever happened between us before,’ — he made vague gesture at the scars on his face — ‘it’s all in the past now. As far as I’m concerned, the slate has been wiped clean.’

And before Draco could answer, Bill had bluntly turned and left him standing there, and disappeared up the steps. To his room, to Theo? Draco didn’t know. He scarcely had time to let any of it sink in before he made the trip back to the Club, feeling queasy and confused and itching from the inside out. Fleur was sitting dressed and ready on the bed, but he had no idea what expression lay in her face, for he could hardly bear to look at her anymore, since he too, knew what he was handing her back over to.

‘So,’ Lucius had said, upon entering the room. ‘Enjoy yourself, did you?’

Draco just about managed a small nod, fazed.

‘You look a little shell-shocked,’ Lucius had scoffed. ‘She wasn’t too much for you, I hope?’ The sting of jealousy was clearly audible in his voice. 

Draco glared up at him. It didn’t matter. His father wasn’t looking at him anyway. He was touching Fleur’s face again. ‘She was a gem,’ Draco whispered, in a monotone. ‘She made an enormous impression on me. I had the time of my life.’

Lucius smiled thinly. ‘Did you? How nice. Let’s see how much of an impression you made on her, eh?’

And then he had pulled Fleur to her feet, pressing her closely against him, and slipped his hand underneath her dress and in between her legs. Draco had seen her body tighten as his father pushed two fingers inside of her. She turned her head, and Lucius’ smile had widened. ‘Yes,’ he whispered, staying rather longer in place than he needed to. ‘I can sense that you have, son.’

He pulled his fingers back and rubbed them together as if to test the quality of what he had extracted. 

Apparently, Crane wasn’t the only one who had wanted some physical evidence of obedience.

 

*

 

Back home, Draco collapsed onto his bed, completely drained. He stared at the ceiling, careful not to allow a single thought to enter his mind. If he did, he’d surely go mad. Minutes passed as he lay like that. Hours. Then he slowly closed his eyes, and he didn’t open them again for a long time, not even when he heard the knock at the door. Nor after that, when it was gently pushed open. The days she had waited to come in until he told her to were gone. The knock had become a mere courtesy. 

He felt the mattress move as she climbed into the bed and lay down next to him. The casual ease with which she executed these movements sent a pinprick of satisfaction through his body. There was no fear there. Not in this respect, anyway. She trusted him. 

‘Draco,’ she whispered. ‘Are you sad?’

He turned on his side and opened his eyes, looking straight into hers. The brown was so close, so friendly, so welcoming. Tell me everything, it seemed to say.

He nodded.

‘I know,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘I could feel it.’

She reached for his hand and took it. They looked down at their fingers as they intertwined, slowly, without words. The shock of the first time, in the winter woods, didn’t happen again. The gesture felt easy, now, natural. They didn’t touch each other anywhere else. Just their hands, only their hands. Like they had mutually agreed this would be their safe zone. Nothing meant, nothing implied, and still so meaningful. 

‘What happened?’ she asked.

He shook his head. 

‘Will you not talk about it?’

He smiled wryly. ‘I received my punishment.’ 

She frowned. 

‘For this.’ His eyes darted to their joined hands. 

She looked up at him in alarm.

‘It’s all right. My father tried to put me on the spot, but I’ve dealt with it.’ 

‘What did he do to you?’ she breathed.

The pull in her eyes was near irresistible.

Still, Draco shook his head. She was better off not knowing. What good would it do to burden her with more sadness? More horror? God knew she had enough of that to bear herself. No, he would carry this alone. It was the least he could do.

‘As you wish,’ she concluded. 

No judgment in her voice. Only a small hint of disappointment, maybe?

Her fingers gently stroked his as she lay beside him, and Draco could feel warmth flowing back into him, slowly chasing away the chill the events of today had left behind. He let his mind wander, his fingers caressing hers in return, like the both of them were performing some strange slow dance with only their hands as the moving pieces. ‘There is something else I must talk to you about,’ he began.

She gave him her complete attention, and waited.

‘It’s them. They’re coming.’

‘Who?’

‘Bellatrix, Pettigrew, Fenrir and his wolves, Crane and Rookwood and all the rest.’ He paused. ‘ _Voldemort._ ’

He saw her flinch at the name. With anger or fear or disgust, he couldn’t tell. Maybe all three emotions at once.

‘They’re having a gathering here, like the one they held at Hogwarts, the day I took you home.’ It sounded like he had picked out a dog from the pound but it wasn’t like that and he knew she knew it wasn’t like that. He grabbed her hand a little tighter. ‘I can’t keep you away from them, Hermione. Last time they were here you were in bed sick. If I keep you out of sight again, they’ll think I’m hiding you on purpose. They’ll get suspicious. His… his _eye_ will fall on you.’

‘I understand,’ she whispered.

‘I’ll have to treat you differently when they’re around,’ Draco continued. ‘I have to make them think I care nothing for you.’

Her eyes flashed, a sudden edge to them. 

‘I mean…’ he stammered. Yes, what did he mean? What had he just admitted to?

He glanced at her, trying to guess her feelings. But her expression had turned soft and open again, like a particularly devoted student, hanging on to his every word. No trace of the flare he had just witnessed.

‘It’s the only way to keep you safe,’ he explained.

‘I understand,’ she repeated.

But he still wasn’t satisfied. Not by far. ‘I need to know you’ll be able to handle it,’ he pleaded, trying to make her realise what this truly meant. ‘Your friends will be there. Everyone is to bring their slave. Things will surely… _happen_ to some of them. Things that will be very difficult to witness. But we can’t do anything for them. _You_ can’t do anything for them. Do you _understand_ that?’ He searched her eyes, desperately.

‘I saw the people I love suffer in the Hogwarts’ dungeons too. I saw them… die.’ 

‘It’ll be different here. The context is not the same. The Manor isn’t a dungeon. And you’re not a bound prisoner anymore.’

She closed her fingers on his and gave him an intent look.

‘I can handle it,’ she assured him. ‘I _can._ ’


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments, and many apologies for the delay between updates. My life has been completely crazy lately. Anyway, I finally managed to finish writing the next chapter. It comes with a WARNING though:  
> If you've made it this far, you probably know this isn't a story about rainbows and unicorns. Still, I'm now starting to work towards the finale, with the gathering of the Death Eaters etc., so I want to explicitly warn you again. The next couple of chapters will be harsh, with many disturbing scenes. Please check out the tags at each new update. I hereby hope to have warned you enough. xx

It rained, on the morning of the big day.

A steady, ice cold drizzle that had melted away the frost during the night and got everything soaking through and through. Very unfortunate, since the first part of the event was to take place outside. Narcissa had been forced to make some last minute adjustments, but as the experienced hostess she was, she had managed beautifully. A huge silver canopy had been pulled over the field in front of the Manor, where a sumptuous dais for Voldemort and his retinue had been erected. On the ground, a floor of wooden boards covered with Persian carpets in snake motifs would keep the guests well off the mud. Crystal chandeliers hung from the enchanted ceiling, and there were green and silver frozen roses everywhere.

‘Shame about the weather,’ she sighed to her husband, sneaking a last, quick nip from her champagne. 'The grounds look positively bleak today.’

‘But perfect for a Mud Hunt, my dear,’ Lucius answered. He took a deep, satisfied breath. ‘Ah, what a treat, to have this age-old tradition brought back to life. And in the same place where it came to its untimely end, too. Takes me right back to my childhood. The stories my father would tell…’

Narcissa still looked unsure. 

Her husband gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Oh, don’t worry, darling. They’ll be more than impressed by our wealth. And your qualities as the lady of the house, of course. You did a truly marvellous job.’ He gave her a cold, reserved peck on the cheek, which she received with an equally cold delight.

The House Elves were standing at the ready with hors-d’oeuvres and drinks, and then the bell chimed, and the first guests started apparating.

Narcissa raised her chin and put on a condescending smile, ready to play her part as the perfect, inimitable hostess.

Lucius rested his hand on the small of her back. As the first guests came up to greet them, he looked around with a frown and whispered: ‘What the hell’s keeping the boy?’

 

*

 

Draco gazed out the double doors that led into the garden. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. He felt beyond nervous. Like he was itching from the inside. There was no telling what would occur today. He had played every possible scenario in his head, over and over again, just to ready himself and his reactions accordingly, but still, he felt ill-prepared. There were too many variables. Too many unknowns.

Luckily, he was a master at Occlumency. He had learned from his aunt Bellatrix herself, and had advanced in leaps after that, outgrowing even her capabilities. The Dark Lord wouldn’t be able to go prowling around his mind without a serious fight, and Draco wasn’t planning on giving him a reason to.

_I’ll just have to think on my feet. Improvise._

Everything hung in the balance today. Her life, as well as his. 

‘Are you ready?’ he asked.

Next to him, Hermione nodded. Her face was pale and grave with the weight of the circumstances. 

Draco wished he could shield her from all of this, but he had no choice. He had to have her by his side when Voldemort arrived, and she’d have to do some waitressing to show herself in her role as servant to the other guests too. He was planning to ship her back off to the kitchens as soon as possible, though, with the excuse she had to help with dinner preparations or something like that. The least she was exposed to these people, to this _situation,_ the better.

_I have to make sure she’s well away when the actual Hunt happens. And preferably even before that, during the slave auction._

She had told him she would be able to handle it, but he knew her. She was a Gryffindor, after all. The sight of her friends and loved ones suffering wouldn’t go down so easily. 

‘All right then,’ he sighed, straightening his shoulders. ‘Let’s do this.’

It was still raining when they left the house, but the canopy Narcissa had provided kept all at bay. Draco was surprised to see how many people were already present. They were sipping their drinks and chatting amongst each other, albeit in somewhat subdued tones. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one feeling a bit anxious. After all, you never could tell what would transpire on one of these gatherings of Voldemort’s…

Draco spotted his parents at the far end of the crowd, near the dais. His father shot him a subtle, berating look. Draco felt his heart sink. Well, he supposed he better go over there and help greet the guests. He snapped his fingers and Kreepy appeared, bearing a glass of scotch on a silver tray. Draco took a stiff sip. Then, one hand casually in his trouser pocket to feign an air of nonchalance, he made his way into the crowd. Hermione followed him obediently, two steps behind.

As required on the invitation, everyone had brought their servants with them. It was a mixed bag. Some slaves looked relatively good, while others seemed at the end of their ropes. It came as no surprise that most of the latter weren’t standing by their masters anymore, quietly awaiting an order, but had been put in the big open-air pen next to the podium. They were the unlucky ones who had fallen short, who had displeased their masters or simply hadn’t been able to hold their interest. Their lot was the auction, and then, if they should they fail to find a new owner, the Hunt.

Draco felt that familiar twinge of shame, deep in his chest. He saw Hermione glance at the enclosure, her cheeks darkening. Quickly, she turned her head, and so did he. Away from all those faces — some desperate, some pleading, some terrified or just plain numb — but all wet and shivering with the rain, their feet ankle-deep in the cold mud. Draco had known more than a few, but just like he had told Hermione; there was nothing he could do for them now.

_I have to focus on the only person I can protect. Hopefully, anyway._

He sipped his scotch, the burning sensation comforting to his throat as well as his nerves.

‘Hey, Malfoy!’

Draco turned to see Goyle approaching them, drink in hand, a lazy smile on his face. ‘Long time no see, man. What have you been up to?’

He grimaced as Goyle proceeded to put an arm around his shoulders. Luckily, the man-brace was over before he even had the chance to do something about it. ‘Nothing much,’ he answered curtly. ‘Just working on my potions.’

Goyle leant in. ‘New powders?’ he asked, hopeful.

Draco didn’t answer, but Goyle’s grin grew wider none the less. ‘Any chance we might try some later?’

‘They’re not finished yet,’ Draco concluded. With that, he made to turn around and flatly leave Goyle standing there, but at that point his former friend spotted Hermione.

‘Granger!’ he growled. ‘Finally, we get to take a peek at the mystery mudblood.’ And with a grin, he grabbed her by the ass.

There was a zapping, scorching sound, and Goyle sprang back, frantically waving his hand. ‘The fuck was that?!’ he bawled.

‘I’m only for my master’s touch,’ Hermione replied, as Draco had instructed her. He had given her a draught that would singe anyone who touched her, save himself. It was light, a first barrier if you will, and wouldn’t hold under a genuine counter-spell, but it would be enough to alert him when he wasn’t with her and keep half-hearted attempts like this one at bay without stirring up too much attention.

Still, all Draco wanted to do right now, was punch Goyle’s face into a bloody pulp. Hermione’s reply had sounded collected and coldly derisive, but he had noticed the movement of her chest, faster and more shallow than usual. Echoes of her emotions resonated within him. She was unsettled, angry, afraid… 

It was foolish, of course. Goyle was far stronger than him, so he’d have to resort to magic, and the last thing he wanted was to cause a scene. But Draco found himself inadvertently reaching for his wand anyway.

Goyle didn’t notice it. He was shaking his head, already grinning again. ‘Blaise was right, Malfoy,’ he chuckled. ‘You’re so fucking her. Hey, look, I don’t blame you. After all, who am I to speak, eh?’ And then he pulled Luna up against him with one arm, and Draco felt like he got the wind knocked out of him. 

_Jesus!_

Goyle followed his gaze and grinned. ‘Yeah, she looks great, doesn’t she?’

Draco couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t noticed Luna before, standing a little behind Goyle, but now she was right in front of them there was no ignoring it. Draco saw Hermione looking at her old friend with eyes as big as saucers, too. Luna was wearing high porn heels and one of her token spandex dresses to go with them. The dress was cherry-red and cut right under her ass, as well as having vertigo-inducing cleavage. But the slutty nature of Luna’s appearance wasn’t what had shocked the both of them so.

‘She’s… she’s _pregnant!’_ Draco exclaimed, sending Goyle a look of utter dismay.

Goyle nodded, took a pull from his beer and said: ‘Yeah. Her tits are even bigger now. Cool, huh? ’

‘But… how did this happen?!’

‘How did you think it happened?’ Goyle grinned.

‘No, I mean, what are you going to do now?’

Goyle shrugged. ‘Dunno. We’ll have to get rid of it, eventually, I suppose.’

‘It’s too late for that.’ Draco pointed at Luna. ‘She’s already showing!’

Goyle seemed to consider this for a second or two. Then he shrugged, raised his beer and said: ‘Well, then I guess I’m going to be a father!’ He clunked the bottle to Draco’s glass with a cheer.

Draco just gawked at him. How could anyone, even Goyle, be so callous? He glanced at poor Luna. She wasn’t very far along yet, but you could clearly see her belly in the tight, red fabric. She looked positively grotesque, wearing a dress like that in her state. Her eyes were still as absent as ever, though. She didn’t even seem to recognise Hermione. He could only hope she was lost in her own little world, and didn’t fully realise what was happening to her.

‘Right,’ Draco finally hissed. ‘Or your father will. Or one of your brothers…’ 

The violence of Goyle’s reaction to this sneer took him by surprise. He snapped his head around and growled: ‘You’re wrong. That kid is mine.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I just know, all right?’ 

Draco watched as Goyle drained his beer, his porky face dark with anger. The situation was surreal. ‘I guess congratulations are in order, then,’ he whispered, sarcasm oozing from every syllable.

Goyle grunted a thanks, without looking at him.

Appalled, Draco turned to leave, but then Goyle suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder. His face lit up now, just as quickly as it had darkened before, as he asked: ‘Say, have you found time to reconsider my offer, by any chance?’

Draco frowned. ‘Your offer?’

He gave Hermione a good look up and down, with greedy eyes. ‘Yeah. About Granger. I don’t suppose you’ll put her up for auction, will you?’ He nodded when he saw Draco’s expression. ‘But I’m still interested, regardless. If ever you feel like you want something different, I’m more than prepared to swap her for Luna. With or without the baby, either way is fine.’ He gave Draco a friendly jab with his fist. ‘Think about it, okay?’ He turned and joined his family, Luna following him like a girl in a dream.

Draco walked over to his parents, completely dumbfounded. He avoided looking at Hermione. He could already guess what she was thinking. Shame crept up on him again. He gritted his teeth. The feast hadn’t even started yet, and already he felt like he was spinning. 

_I have to be more careful. I can’t get pulled in like this._

He was clearly too emotionally involved. Especially where Luna was involved. She would always represent a sore spot for him, he supposed. But the real problem was Hermione, of course. In spite of all his minute preparation, he had almost lost it, and over nothing, really. If getting groped by the ass was the worst that would happen to her today, she should count her lucky stars. 

_And if I continue to show my true colours like this, the both of us are doomed._

He hardened himself. This wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t. He would play the role of Hermione’s master — jealous and possessive of his slave, maybe, but not the least bit affectionate towards her. 

Draco joined his parents and went through the motions of being the model son for a while, greeting the guests, while Hermione stood quietly at his beck-and-call. She did her best to avoid looking at the servants as they walked up with their masters. Don’t connect, he had told her, don’t get involved. 

Draco was forced to follow his own advice when Crane arrived. Fleur shot him a quick glance. She looked like a beautiful young bride in her white dress, and he could just feel his father secretly leering at her. Narcissa didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just chose to ignore it.

Next was Mistress Tabatha, the geriatric witch who had taken Dean Thomas as a servant. Dean was among the ones that looked good. Well, sort of, anyway. He was wearing a ridiculously sumptuous outfit, like a lackey from days long gone, and had gained more than thirty pounds, at the least. The old hag was treating him like a little lap dog for sure, spoiling and pampering him to a point where it wasn’t healthy anymore.

And indeed, Tabatha went straight for the hors d’oeuvres next. When Draco saw her stuff a salmon-roll in Dean’s mouth, and subsequently pinch him in the cheek while making little cooing sounds, he strongly suspected Dean was forced to do some spoiling of another nature on her, in return.

Luckily, at that point, the Notts came up to them, and he was spared the mental image. 

‘Draco,’ Theo hissed, firmly gripping his hand.

‘Theodore.’

They held the handshake for a fraction of a second too long, as if to draw strength from each other. Bill was there too. He was wearing shaggy clothes, and his face looked hollow and pale, like he was sleep-deprived. He seemed calm, indifferent almost. Hermione was looking up at him, her eyes shimmering with emotion upon seeing him, but he just gave her a friendly smile like she was a slightly odd girl who’d asked him for the time. No fighting back the impulse to give her a hug, no craning his neck looking around for Ginny or Fleur…

‘I put a spell on him,’ Theo explained, as they stepped aside for a moment while their parents talked. ‘To help him cope. Nothing he sees today will really sink in.’

Draco nodded. He had considered doing something similar with Hermione, but had finally decided against it. She needed her wits about her, today. He couldn’t be with her all the time.

Theo grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray. ‘Granger looks well,’ he said, sneaking a glance at Hermione. 

Draco coughed uncomfortably, as he tried to avoid Theo’s knowing look.

‘A little too well, maybe?’ Theo ventured.

Draco shrugged. ‘Not everything leaves a mark.’

‘Do you think he’ll believe that?’

Draco met his friend’s gaze. ‘Do you?’

‘Believe it?’

‘No, do you believe he will?’ Draco searched Theo’s face and realised how desperately he needed his friend’s assurance.

Theo tilted his head. ‘I didn’t allow Bill more than three hours of sleep a night, this past week.’

‘She’s pale, too.’

‘Not pale enough.’

Theo’s remark sent a jolt through Draco’s stomach. Panic awoke inside of him, tried to bubble to the surface. He looked at Hermione. _Really_ looked at her, with fresh eyes. And suddenly he saw her the way Voldemort would see her. Demurely dressed, clean, her physical integrity intact. Downcast, of course, but no matter how hard she was trying, she couldn’t emulate the vacant, empty expression she’d had in the early days of living in the Manor. The spirit had returned to her eyes. And even though he knew it couldn’t have gone any other way, Draco cursed himself for treating her the way he had, for allowing her strength to surface again. By doing so, he had put her in mortal danger.

‘If I were you,’ Theo suggested. ‘I’d make sure he gets the picture you wish to convey right away, before he has the chance to form his own. Remember, a little example goes a long way.’ 

Draco watched as Theo and his father slipped into the crowd. His heart was pounding against his ribs. He could feel Hermione trying to make eye-contact, but he ignored her. Theo’s words echoed through his mind. He drained his glass, but refrained from taking another. After all, he needed his wits about him today, too…

The next to arrive were Fenrir Greyback and his pack. After a curt, perfunctory greeting to Lucius, he led his wolves out from under the canopy and into the rain, as if they couldn’t stand the plush carpets under their feet, but craved the contact with the muddy earth, the cloggy winter grass. Their smell added something beastly to the gathering, something wild, and the atmosphere took a turn for the worse. People were getting restless, shuffling on their feet. The flow of guests diminished to a trickle, and then stopped altogether. A hush fell over the gathering now, as everyone nervously awaited the final guests. The _main_ guest. The only sound left was the pattering of the rain on the canvas. It seemed to grow slower. Fat droplets leaked from the canopy, on the grass around them. The faces and manes of the man-wolves were slick and wet with it. Draco could feel Hermione inch closer to him. The movement was instinctive, barely noticeable. But he noticed. His connection to her had only deepened these last few days. He could feel her anxiety. 

And then the rain suddenly stopped.

The canopy with its chandeliers folded back on itself, and disappeared. Fresh, cold air rushed their faces, now only lit by the grey daylight. Everyone looked up. The fast-moving clouds above them seemed to stall and congeal. There was a low, rumbling noise from the east, and there they were. 

A whirl of black smoke accompanied their apparition, like they had been pushed from the thunderclouds themselves. 

Bellatrix appeared first, with the creature formerly known as Neville in tow. He eyed the crowd ominously, like a living, breathing threat, trying to identify possible dangers for his mistress. Then it was Pettigrew, snub-nosed and still servant-less. Apparently, he had preferred to wait until today, to be sure of the best pick.

When the Dark Lord himself manifested, he was accompanied by the snake, and by Ginny. They flanked him as he made his way through the crowd, which reverently parted before him, leaving a straight passage all the way up to the dais. All bowed their heads as the group passed, but Voldemort didn’t grant them a single look. He headed straight for the Malfoy family.

As the Dark Lord approached, Draco could feel Hermione’s presence like an energy behind him. She was so close they were almost physically touching now. And that’s what she wanted to do, too. Her desire to grab his hand and press it tight was clear as a neon-sign in his head. Electricity tingled in his fingertips, preparing themselves for the contact with her skin. The turmoil inside of her was so great it was threatening to infect him too. His nerves reached a high-point, and he thought he was going to collapse, to cave in on himself with dread. But when Voldemort finally halted in front of them, Draco slipped into the role like a glove, into the illusion, and a complete, unshakeable calm washed over his exterior.

‘Lucius,’ Voldemort spoke.

Draco could feel his father glow with pride as they were allowed the honour of being the first ones to greet the Dark Lord. Voldemort held out his hand and they kissed his ring as was the custom. 

‘Thank you for allowing us the honour of using your home, today,’ Voldemort continued.

‘The honour is entirely ours, my liege,’ Lucius grovelled. ‘Though I must give most credit to my wife, for all her careful preparations.’

‘Quite.’ Voldemort granted Narcissa a smile. ‘Beautifully done, my dear.’ She bowed her head in gratitude, roses in her cheeks.

The snake-eyes settled on Draco now.

‘Good to see you again, Draco.’ It sounded like he meant it. ‘Ah, and Miss Granger is present too. Finally recovered, then.’ 

Hermione remained silent.

‘Pray, look up when I am speaking to you.’

Draco watched as Hermione raised her head to face the being that had taken everything from her: her lover, her best friend, her right to be a person in this world. She was doing her best to hide her true feelings. But that was just it. She still had feelings. She still had spirit. And Draco knew Voldemort would spot it in a heartbeat.

He remembered Theo’s words. 

_A little example goes a long way._

Sound advice.

‘Bow before your lord,’ he snapped at her.

Despite everything they had discussed beforehand, she still seemed a little surprised at his harsh tone. It was his own fault. He had been too lenient with her these last few weeks; she wasn’t accustomed to it anymore.

_I should have practiced this with her, have desensitised her to it._

Though he seriously doubted he would have been capable to speak to her like this without it being absolutely necessary. No, it would never have been the same. Not even close. He was like another person now. Like he had become the mask. It was a skill he possessed, a part of his Occlumency mastery, which only truly switched on in life or death situations. 

Hermione swallowed. A circle had opened up around her; all eyes were on her and Voldemort now. She shot Draco a quick look. And oh yes, she still had spirit. A white-hot anger had flared up inside of her. Draco could almost feel the heat, the _hate,_ radiate off her. Good. It would mask the other feelings and thoughts, would confuse the signals her mind gave off. She turned to Voldemort again, and slowly, grudgingly, inclined her head. He saw Bellatrix looking on with big, black eyes, drinking in the scene.

‘Lower,’ Draco commanded.

The heat coming off her intensified. Her chest rose, her cheeks red with the insult. Reluctantly, she started obeying. But it wasn’t fast enough, so he took out his wand and gestured downward. An invisible hand pushed down between her shoulderblades, and she doubled over. 

Bellatrix laughed. ‘Very good, Draco! I can see you train her well. Although there’s one small detail you have overlooked.’

Draco’s heart jumped to his throat, but the only movement visible on the surface of him, was the cold raising of an eyebrow.

Bellatrix’ grin widened. ‘She’s not wearing the appropriate attire!’ she cackled. Upon which she pointed her wand to the floor. Mud started to bubble up between the wooden boards, puddling on the carpet. Hermione gasped and took a step back, guessing the other witch’s intentions, but Bellatrix made a quick, swooping gesture, and a gust of power blasted from her wand. Hermione’s clothes were ripped clean off.

An excited murmur went through the crowd. Hermione gave a scream. She threw her arms in front of her, hugging herself in an instinctive attempt to hide her nakedness from the hundreds of onlookers. People started laughing. Some whistled or threw jibes at her, others, like Greyback, drank in her features like she was an entrée to devour. She swirled in this direction, then that, but they were all around her. There was no escape. Finally, she stooped to her knees, riddled with humiliation.

Draco stood frozen. He forced himself to keep breathing evenly, to suppress the instinct to avert his eyes and look away from what he had been longing to see for so long. How simple it had been. One flick of a wand, and all he coveted was laid bare before him. He took in her body, naked, vulnerable, still surprisingly skinny, and he felt like he was violating her, just by looking. He saw how pale her skin was, on the places where even the daylight hadn’t touched her for months. The thin female hair on her legs and under her arms, and the dark triangle she was desperately trying to hide between her thighs. The brown nipples, small and stiff with the cold and the shame. Still, all of this inspired nothing even remotely sexual in him. Aside from the sudden shock of seeing her body revealed, the only thing that really held him now, was her face. The sheer mortification on it. The helplessness. In her desperation, all caution seemed to have left her and she was looking straight at him now, pleading.

_Help me, Draco. Help me._

Draco remained still for a moment longer. He took a step forward, his face set in stone. ‘I said: _lower.’_ Then he planted his foot between her shoulderblades, and pushed down.

Hermione grunted as the air was forced from her lungs and she sank into the mud, flat on her face, her arms and legs flailing. Bellatrix laughed hysterically, and the crowd cheered.

A thin smile touched the corners of Voldemort’s mouth. He gave a barely noticeable nod, then walked on to climb the dais, his retinue behind him. They passed Hermione, who was still on the ground, without even looking at her. Ginny actually side-stepped her. The Mudblood had served her purpose, her role was affirmed; they had lost their interest in her now. 

‘Get back to the kitchens and clean yourself up,’ Draco ordered coldly, as Hermione started to push herself up from the puddle, shaky and miserable, half of her face and hair caked with mud. Then he turned his back on her and followed the others to the podium.

 

*

 

He was granted a place of honour again, immediately on Voldemort’s right hand side. Apparently, his antics had pleased the Dark Lord once more. 

_What potential he must see in me,_ Draco thought bitterly, as he sat in between Voldemort and his parents, looking out over the gathering. Hermione was gone. Thankfully. She’d managed to make her way through the crowd somehow, naked and besmeared, while dodging the ridicule, the looks, the whispers, and finally disappeared into the relative safety of the house. 

Draco let his emotions run freely now. It wasn’t an issue. They were all dark, so they would possibly even enhance his credibility with Voldemort. After all, the Dark Lord had no way of knowing they stemmed from pure self-loathing. The feeling was overpowering. Draco had never felt like this before. He positively sickened himself. How he had even been capable of doing such a thing, he didn’t know.

_It was necessary. You know it was._

He did. But that didn’t make it any less difficult to come to terms with. 

He glanced sideways. Voldemort was sitting on his throne, with Nagini and Ginny at his feet, one by each leg. Ginny was gazing up at her master in complete adoration.

‘Ginevra,’ Voldemort motioned.

She smiled and stood, then strode to the edge of the platform, facing the audience. Her posture was tall and proud, her hair and dress a darker red than ever. And suddenly, Draco noticed she wasn’t wearing a collar. Had she been wearing one when they had visited the house last time? He couldn’t remember. But now he thought about it, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. After all, why would the Dark Lord need a trifling thing like a magical collar to keep his servant in check? One look at Ginny, and it was clear she was completely and utterly under his thrall. Just like she had been all those years ago, by the mere memory of Tom Riddle’s younger self in a diary. The effect of being in Voldemort’s presence all the time, while he was at the peak of his power, had to be all-consuming.

Draco wondered if they copulated as well. He couldn’t think of another word to describe any sexual act Voldemort might be involved in, since he wasn’t really a human being anymore, he was a monster, a corruption of man. A mental image was starting to form, and Draco violently pushed it away. Seeing something like that, even in his mind, would be enough to psychologically castrate him for years. He thought of what Hermione had said, that Voldemort wasn’t into “that kind of thing”. Relieved, he supposed she was probably right. He couldn’t imagine that _creature_ doing it with anyone, and especially not a girl like Ginny. In a way, Harry Potter’s old girlfriend was even worse off than Luna. For Ginny’s body might have remained untouched, but her mind had been corrupted, her very soul infected by the virus that was Voldemort’s evil. She had lost the essence of who she was. She had indeed been consumed.

On some invisible signal from Voldemort, Ginny spoke, her voice ringing loud and clear, and without a moment’s hesitation: ‘All hail the Dark Lord, Master of earth, sea and sky! Ruler over the five elements, Death-Bringer, Personification of the Sinister!’

The crowd bowed down as one. Ginny went on like this for a while. Draco’s thoughts trailed off. He was worried about Hermione. She hadn’t come back out yet. She couldn’t wait too long. She needed to show herself as much as possible now, before the Hunt, so she wouldn’t have to be present tonight, when the atmosphere would no doubt be looser and much more dangerous for her. But by the time the auction started, Hermione still hadn’t resurfaced. 

_Where’s Kreepy?_ Draco thought. _Where is that little fucker?_

He’d instructed the House-Elf to come get him if there was any trouble with Hermione. But so far, neither she nor Kreepy were anywhere to be seen. 

Draco had no choice but to follow the auction for a while. It was just as awful to watch as the very first time. Even more so, when you considered the fate of the ones that wouldn’t be chosen. Quite a lot of people were interested in getting a new servant, but it was clear there would be plenty of prey for the Hunt too. The pen was overfull now, as the new captives from the last couple of months had been added to the mix. Those were by far the most popular ones, since they were still pristine, sort of speak. Draco saw Seamus Finnegan among the old ones put up for auction. 

‘That’s the one I’m going to get,’ Pettigrew pointed. ‘I hear Rookwood broke him in real good.’

‘Sloppy seconds,’ Bellatrix sneered.

‘Mind your own business,’ the rat retorted.

At that point, Kreepy finally apparated, and Draco felt like he was going to scream with relief. 

‘What is it?’ Narcissa asked, as the House-Elf bowed before her.

‘Forgive me, Mistress,’ the creature said. ‘We’re having a bit of an emergency with the dinner preparations.’

Draco recognised the sentence he’d fed to the thing. He was already on his feet. ‘It’s all right, Mother. I’ll take care of this.’

Narcissa frowned, her eyes wary.

He forced out a smile. ‘It’s no problem. You stay here and enjoy yourself.’ He gave her a peck on the cheek, and Bellatrix sighed melodramatically: ‘Oh, you’re so lucky, Narcissa! I wish I had a son, too.’

‘It’s never too late,’ Pettigrew mocked.

Bellatrix kicked her boot against the arm-rest of his chair, and he wisely shut up.

Draco excused himself to Voldemort, who seemed too enthralled by the auction to really notice, although it would be a mistake to actually believe that, of course. 

_I can’t stay away too long…_

Quickly, Draco left the podium and headed for the house.

 

*

 

He found her in the kitchens, standing over the sink. She had her back to him, but he was relieved to see she had washed and put on a new set of clothes.

‘She doesn’t want to come out anymore, Master,’ Kreepy snitched. 

‘Yes, all right, I’ll handle this,’ Draco replied, his mind already with Hermione.

The House-Elf took the hint and disapparated.

Draco walked over to her. ‘Are you okay?’ he inquired. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

She turned around to face him. ‘How could you?’ she hissed.

He mistook what she had said as an answer to his question. ‘What?’ he asked, confused.

‘How _could_ you?’ she repeated, through gritted teeth. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.

Draco swallowed. She was angry. Of course she was. How would he have felt if somebody had did this to him? ‘I’m sorry,’ he nodded. ‘I know how awful that must have been for you.’

‘Awful?’ she snorted. ‘ _Awful?’_

‘Okay, I know that doesn’t cover it. But at least you can rest assured his interest in you is gone. If he ever suspected anything, he doesn’t anymore. You’re safe. For now, anyway…’

It was as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘You made me _bow_ to him,’ she went on, her voice thick with anger. ‘To _him!_ After all he did to me… How could you make me go through that?!!’

She was downright screaming now. Draco took a step towards her. ‘Hermione,’ he tried, touching her arm. But she shook him off and backed away.

‘I thought I saw something in you,’ she said, her voice a seething whisper again. ‘Some kindness. Some humanity. A glimpse of a soul, maybe. I thought you’d changed. But you’re still the same. You’re just like _them.’_

Draco exhaled. ‘Look,’ he tried to explain. ‘I understand it was a horrible experience for you, but you must realise I didn’t have a choice. I did this for you. To _protect_ you.’

She let out a derisive little laugh. ‘Oh, I see, to protect me.’

‘Hermione, we discussed this. You told me you would be able to handle it.’

‘I wasn’t prepared. You didn’t _prepare _me enough!’__

‘I know, and I’m sorry, okay? I’m so terribly sorry. What more can I say?’

There was a pause. 

She looked up at him, her eyes narrow slits. Her voice was low, as she said: ‘You’re not sorry.’

Draco blinked. ‘Of course I am!’

‘No, you’re not,’ she stated, slowly. ‘You _enjoyed_ this.’

‘W- what?’

She raised her chin. ‘You did. You got a kick out of it. Just like when you slapped me in the face, that day.’

Draco felt an icy fist close around his heart. His body went rigid, seemed to freeze up. ‘That’s not true,’ he whispered, mortified.

But Hermione took on a mock seductive pose, and piped: ‘Shall I bring you another glass of champagne, sir? Why, I just love to watch as your girlfriend deep-throats you. Can I get on my knees for you, too?’ 

‘Stop that.’

She didn’t. Instead, she put on big, innocent eyes, fighting the collar as if she couldn’t feel its pinch, and chirped on: ‘Or maybe I could shine your shoes again? Lick’ em clean, like a good little serving wench. I’ll use my hair and everything, just the way you like it, sir.’

‘Stop it! Don’t compare that to what happened just now. It’s… those things… they’re not the same.’

She walked towards him; her eyes watering with the strain of the collar now. ‘Your very own lusty little slave-girl. Your private tart. Make me beg for my food again, oh, please, why don’t you. Feed me a pear, sir, pretty please?’ 

Draco couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. He stared down at the floor, the shame insupportable. He was breathing hard, his jaw clenched. She was right in front of him now. He could smell her scent, that lovely clean smell. The warmth of her breath. ‘You enjoyed it,’ she whispered, leaning in, tantalising, accusing, provoking. ‘Admit it. You _liked_ it.’

Slowly, Draco raised his eyes to hers. She met them with a bright, hungry intensity. Ferocious…

He spoke softly, but without hesitation. ‘You liked it too.’

That clearly wasn’t the answer she had expected. She blinked, her brow furrowing. ‘What?’ she scoffed. ‘What are you talking about?’

He raised his head, his demeanor cold and proud, now. ‘You liked it plenty. That thing with the pear.’

A strange set of emotions passed across her face. ‘I most certainly did not!’ she exclaimed, scandalised. But despite her best effort, it didn’t sound all that convincing.

‘Baby,’ he scoffed. ‘You sucked my fucking thumb.’

She grew bright red. He could literally see the colour rise up her cheeks. ‘I— I was beside myself with hunger!’

‘So what, you were going to bite it off, have it for a snack?’

‘Don’t joke!’

She turned away from him now, looking for a moment to regroup, but he followed and faced her again. ‘You can deny it all you want, but there’s something between us, Hermione,’ he insisted. ‘There has always been. Maybe even as far back as Hogwarts. There’s a tension there, a… a _passion.’_

‘Leave me alone!’ she screamed, turning away again, but he took her by the arm and held her. 

‘And yes,’ he continued, like there hadn’t been an interruption, ‘I was a total asshole doing that all stuff to you, before. I don’t know why I did it. I guess it was just some warped way of channelling that passion, of… of somehow _connecting_ to you; hell, I don’t know. I only half understand it myself. And it’s not an excuse, not by far. But don’t tell me you didn’t feel it in some way too. And _don’t_ compare it to what I was forced to do just now. Don’t you dare!’

She yanked her arm back, yelling bitterly at him now. ‘It was the same! It was exactly the same!’

He spread his arms. ‘Do you really think I liked this? Having to humiliate you in front of all those people? All of _them?_ Don’t you know how that made me feel inside?!’

‘Oh, poor you!’ she spat.

Yes, poor me! he wanted to scream. What if you die? Don’t you realize it would kill me too? That I can’t go on living without you? Don’t you care?

But he said: ‘Well, what else was I supposed to do? Let you sacrifice yourself on the altar of the moral highground, like a good little Gryffindor? Send you to you death rather than have you bow down before Voldemort?’

‘Some things are worth dying for,’ she hissed, proud.

He shook his head. How could she not see this? How could she not understand this? ‘You of all people should know what he is capable of, Hermione. Would you have preferred to end up like Harry? Like _Ron?’_

‘Don’t speak their names!’ she fumed.

He stepped up to her, and yelled: ‘The time of the Gryffindor is _over!’_ He clapped his hands together, as if trying to wake her up, to shock her into understanding. ‘Whether you like it or not, it’s the Snake that rules now, and we can only make do.’

Her eyes were blazing, livid with anger. ‘ _Coward!_ I _hate_ you!!! You, and all you stand for! I swear to God, if it wasn’t for this stupid thing around my neck, I’d—’

He jerked his chin, daring her. ‘You’d _what.’_

And then he swept his wand, and the collar came falling off, clanking onto the cold, stone floor.

A sudden, heavy silence fell over the kitchen. 

Hermione breathed in sharply. Trembling, her hands reached for her throat, touched at it, at the skin that had been out of reach for so long, as if still feeling for the metal ring there — as if grasping for its support? She looked at Draco, her eyes wide and bewildered, while she felt free will flow back into her like a tidal wave.

Neither of them moved.

Her breathing became faster now, more irregular. She was fighting herself. Fighting to get into motion, to snap out of her sudden paralysis. Instead, slowly, her shoulders started to droop. The breathing became panting. Her eyes filled up. And Draco knew she got it. Only now the collar was off, did she realise that hadn’t been the thing keeping her under. It wasn’t the collar, but the world as it was now, that held her captive. There was nowhere to run, no action that she could take that could possibly better her situation or that of any of her friends. She was as powerless as she had been with the iron band still around her neck. Draco felt for her. It was a harsh blow to take.

They stood facing each other like that for a moment longer. Then he walked up to her, embarrassed, and picked the collar up from the floor. She averted her head, softly weeping now, strands of hair moving at each shaky exhale. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, as he put the thing carefully back in place and clicked it shut. ‘I wish there were another way.’

She averted her face even more, like she couldn’t bear his presence near her.

‘I would do anything to keep you safe, Hermione,’ he explained. ‘ _Anything._ Even if that means hurting your pride.’

At this, she spoke. Her voice small and broken. ‘Pride has nothing to do with it. You don’t understand. You never will.’

He bowed his own head at that, nodding to himself. A cluster of something — pain, loneliness, inadequacy — throbbed behind his breastbone. It didn’t stop him from breathing, though. It didn’t stop his heart from beating. And neither would hers. And that was all that mattered, after all. 

‘Get back out there and serve them drinks,’ he concluded. ‘I want you around as much as possible before the Hunt. Tonight, you can stay up in your room. They’ll be too drunk to notice. In the meantime, try to stay away from the most dangerous ones, the loose cannons — especially the wolf-men. Should anyone try to hurt you, you have my permission to fight them off. Kick, bite, scratch, whatever. Tell them I ordered you to do so; that I’m jealous. And scream. I’ll come and help you. I can feel your distress.’

She looked at him, her eyes darker than he had ever seen them. ‘Can you?’ 

Somehow, he managed to weather her gaze. ‘Yes,’ he whispered, almost sadly. ‘I can.’

Without another word, he walked past her and out of the kitchen.


	15. Chapter 15

Draco took his place on the dais again, at Voldemort’s right hand side. 

‘Crisis averted?’ the Dark Lord asked, almost whimsical, with a chilling little smile. He seemed to be getting in a better mood by the minute. Probably looking forward to the Hunt.

Draco gave a curt nod. ‘All is well, my Lord.’

But was it, though? 

He wondered, as he settled in his chair, a brooding expression on his face.

The after-effects of the exchange with Hermione were still throbbing through his body. For the first time, everything that had been hanging between them, unspoken, had been put into words. The things she had said to him… The things he had said to _her!_ He had never come so close to revealing his true emotions to her, to _himself,_ even. They had been completely real with each other, and it had been raw and jarring. God, when she had told him she hated him… She couldn’t have hurt him more if she’d taken out a knife and carved the words in his chest. 

He clenched his jaw. He hated the fact there was a person on earth that had the power to make him feel this way. 

_But I don’t hate her, though._

No, never her.

That knowledge was comforting, somehow.

He saw his mother send him a look that was both warning and suspicious. Quickly, he put his attention on the auction again.

That had entered its final stages. The cage by the podium was no longer brimming, but it was still full enough, and the remaining slaves were getting increasingly more desperate. Some had retreated into themselves, frozen with fear, while others were begging their former masters for mercy, their arms clawing out between the bars, promising they would be better, offering to do whatever — _anything_ — if they could just return home with them. 

It all fell on deaf ears, of course. Their masters had new toys to play with now.

Draco felt a powerful queasiness start to take hold of him. He could almost smell the fear coming from the people in that cage, a pure and mortal dread, like sweat exuding from their pores. He didn’t know if they knew what was about to happen to them. Probably. And even if they didn’t know the exact details, they knew it would be bad.

And it would be.

Oh yes, it would be.

_They’re going to die,_ Draco realised. _Every last one of them._

Maybe a few more would be chosen, but then that was it. Like some sick version of Quidditch try-outs. Didn’t make the cut? What a shame. No, no trying again next year. You have been used, yes, we used you all up, and now it’s to the meat grinder with you. Don’t protest, protests are so tedious and won’t do any good anyway. Just man up and get into the slaughter line. But run a little first, will you? We like to be entertained.

Draco cleared his throat; coughed once, twice. The sick feeling intensified. He glanced at the brooms, standing at the ready near the gates towards the woods. Due to practical reasons, the traditional Thestrals had finally been decided against. He would have the pleasure of mounting his old, faithful Nimbus for this little excursion. 

_Another fond memory in the making,_ he thought, his cynicism raging ink-black.

Focus on something else. _Now._

He forced himself to look over the heads of the crowd, at the Manor. And yes, there she was. A little figure in black, emerging from the house with a tray clutched in her hands. Just like he had ordered. Good. At least that was something.

_At least_ she _isn’t standing in that cage._

The thought sent a chill up his spine, and when he lost her among the guests he had to fight the urge to crane his neck. No, she would call if she needed him. Call with her mind. He had told her what to do. Come on, be cool now. Relax.

‘That’s it, people!’ Amycus Carrow announced, while his sister sent the final slave off the podium. ‘That was the last request filled. The auction is hereby concluded.’

A wail rose up from the cage. Hope, evaporating.

Voldemort raised his hands. 

‘Prepare for the Hunt!’ he called, as gleeful as was possible for a creature like him, and the crowd broke into a cheer. The Carrows flung open the cage and started zapping people’s clothes’ off. Apparently, it wasn’t enough for the slaves to run for their lives in the woods, no, they’d have to do it naked as well. Draco supposed the measure was meant to dehumanize them, but it wasn’t really working. Somehow, they looked even more human like that, huddled together, all fleshy and vulnerable.

Bellatrix giggled and clapped her hands, bouncing up and down in her seat. Yes, she liked that kind of thing, didn’t she… ‘Time to dress the part!’ she screeched. Upon which she turned her wand on herself, and for a split second, Draco feared she was going to tear her own clothes off too. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case.

‘Tada!’ she announced, as she was magically wrapped in a black Victorian-style riding costume, complete with little top hat and veil. 

_God, if she goes side-saddle on her broom, I’ll scream,_ Draco thought.

But Voldemort seemed to think it was delightful. He put his head back and opened his mouth, all very slowly, like some old, rusty mechanism being put into motion, and then uttered three long, slow bouts of laughter. Ha-ha-ha.

‘Oh, Bella,’ he said. ‘You do amuse me so.’

She sent him a pleased grin. Ginny smiled also, chuffed at her master’s good mood, and Neville had a look of complete rapture on his face as he took in his mistress’ new attire. Bellatrix winked at him, swatting her leather riding crop against her boot in a way that could only be described as promising. 

‘All right,’ Voldemort announced, eager. ‘Release our prey!’ 

But before the Carrows had the chance to obey, a clear, presumptuous voice rang over the field.

‘One moment, if you please, My Lord!’

There was a shocked silence, followed by a curious murmur. Everyone turned their heads, looking to see who had spoken.

_Blaise???_

Draco hadn’t noticed him before; he supposed Blaise had only just arrived, fashionably late, as usual. Proud as a peacock, he strutted towards the dais, with his two women like trophies on his arms. Parvati on the left-hand side, head held high, dressed in a long gown of green and silver, her diamond choker sparkling; Daphne on the right hand side, wearing a pink gauzy dress that went very well with her blonde hair — and with the colour on her cheeks. Contrary to Blaise and Parvati, she looked absolutely mortified.

Resentful whispers passed between the guests, speaking of scandal and outrage, as the trio halted in front of the dais and gave a bow.

‘My Lord,’ Blaise repeated. ‘Before we start, I have a request to make.’

Everyone waited to see what their Master would do. 

Voldemort eyed Blaise over coolly for a second or two. Then he settled back in his chair and made a quick gesture with his hand, signalling him to continue. 

Blaise nodded gracefully. He cleared his throat and declared: ‘My Lord, I would like to grant my servant her freedom. She has pleased me, and we are, as you can see, very much in love.’ 

Shocked outcries from the crowd. Daphne looked like she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Inadvertently, Draco leant forward in his chair, his hands balled into fists on the armrests. He couldn’t believe it. What was that fool doing?! Was he _insane???_ He knew Blaise was full of himself, he always had been, but this was just stupid!

_Suicide,_ Draco thought. _He’s committing suicide and he doesn’t even know it._

Heart pounding, Draco glanced at Voldemort. The Dark Lord sat motionless on his throne, without saying a word, his eyes still fixed on Blaise.

‘Parvati has expressed the wish to join our ranks,’ Blaise continued. ‘She comes from a Pure-Blood family. Her lineage is clean. I am sure she’d make a fine addition to our community.’ 

Still, no reaction from Voldemort. He just sat there, unblinking.

Blaise’s reckless confidence seemed to waver somewhat. He cleared his throat. ‘She realises she was mistaken, not joining us sooner, when she first had the chance. But now she has come around to the cause, and is, I assure you, completely devoted. I would therefore be very pleased if you would consider my request, My Lord.’

Silence.

A tension started to build in the crowd. Draco could feel it rising in his own chest. On the other side of the throne, Bellatrix’ grin grew wider. Pettigrew narrowed his eyes peevishly. Ginny and Nagini looked mesmerized, and Neville threatening. An image of a pack of hyena’s, ready to pounce, sprang into Draco’s mind.

At long last, Blaise started to notice it too. He swallowed, and wet his lips. ‘My Lord?’ he spoke, hesitant.

Voldemort broke the silence.

‘How dare you?’

The words were quiet, venomous; a hiss.

Everyone present; the slaves, the guests, the house-elves, even the privileged few sitting by Voldemort on the dais, shrank back. The voice of their ruler speaking in anger was enough to make even Bellatrix Lestrange herself shudder, although that was partly in ecstasy too.

Blaise dropped to his knees. ‘Master,’ he whispered, breathless. ‘Forgive me!’

Voldemort sprang to his feet, quick and inhumanly nimble. Both the girls stepped back and away from Blaise, but Voldemort turned to the crowd first.

‘Haven’t you been paying attention?’ he boomed. ‘I said: to _torture_ , to _kill,_ to _keep in servitude._ That’s the reason I shared my bounty with you. And in all my generosity, what do I get? What do I hear here, from this miserable creature?’ He made a sound somewhere between a scoff, a choke and a laugh. _‘Love!’_

The crowd bowed their heads. No one dared move. No one knew where this fit of rage might lead, and they were all praying it wouldn’t lead to them personally.

But Voldemort turned his back on them and started circling Blaise, who sat crouching, terrified. 

‘I don’t care if you make her your concubine,’ he snarled. ‘You can lay waste to her all you like in private. Spoil her, even. But how _dare_ you ask her to be raised up to one of us!!!’

‘Master…’ Blaise sobbed. ‘Master, I made a mistake.’

‘Fool!’ Voldemort bit. ‘You’ve opened the way for them to play mind games on us!’ 

‘I know, I know! And I don’t want her anymore. Not at all. You can have her back, My Lord. Please, take her, put her in the cage, hunt her, do with her what you will!’

Voldemort ignored his pleas. He took out his wand and stuck it underneath Blaise’s chin, forcing him to look into his eyes. His tone changed now, got almost contemplative. ‘What made you so arrogant, I wonder? What gave you the gall to come here — _late, I might add_ — and interrupt my feast; to find the nerve to make me such a request, hm? Is it some sort of deluded bravery? Or mere idiocy? ’

Draco saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. A flash of red. Ginny. She slid over to her master, got on her tip-toes and whispered something in his ear, like a little girl sharing a secret with her daddy. She giggled when she was done, sending a hungry, greedy expression towards Blaise.

Voldemort had listened intently, and the smile that ensued was almost more frightening than his anger had been. ‘Well, well, well,’ he spoke to Blaise. ‘Ginevra has just given me an interesting little tidbit. She informs me you are considered quite handsome; beautiful, even. Is that were your arrogance stems from, then, your pretty face?’

‘Master,’ Blaise tried again, begging and blubbering in a truly pitiful display. ‘Master, I will do _anything_ …’

But it was too late. Of course it was. Draco had known it from the moment Blaise opened his mouth. He wasn’t coming out of this fiasco unscathed. He would be lucky if he came out of it at all. Part of Draco couldn’t help feeling for his former friend. Blaise was a scumbag, but he had known him for too long and too intimately to be completely indifferent to his fate. He just hoped whatever Voldemort had in store for him, wouldn’t take long.

‘Silence!’ Voldemort barked. ‘Get on your feet.’

Blaise obeyed reluctantly, feeble and cringing with fear.

The Dark Lord didn’t waste any time. He moved his wand across Blaise’s cheek, and instantly, a scream pierced the air. 

It was impossible to watch, and at the same time, it was impossible not to. Draco looked on in horror, as Blaise’s skin started to bubble. It puddled and melted and blobbed like boiling mud, giving off a sickening, scorching smell that almost made him gag. Voldemort remained unmoved. Dedicated, like an artist in utter concentration, he moved his wand in slow circles across Blaise’s face and body, who stood paralyzed, unable to move a single muscle, trapped in Voldemort’s spell. The screams rose in unison with the movements, becoming so high-pitched they didn’t seem human anymore. Then, finally, _finally,_ they broke into a low, wet huffing. The heat had gone deeper; Blaise’s nerves had been cut.

After a few more adjustments Voldemort took a step back, and overlooked his handiwork. Blaise’s body had _melted away._ Or at least half of it had, making him look lop-sided and bizarre. The chiselled muscles, the perfect skin, the graceful posture; his whole left side had shrivelled away like an old apple. The contrast with the side that was intact somehow made the end result even worse, and he was stooping like a hunchback, out of balance. But none of this compared even remotely to what had happened to his face. There were no words to describe it. A mass, a tangle, a bulk… With much difficulty, Draco could recognise one eye amidst it all, one slight gleam still mirroring Blaise’s old self. Other than that, there was nothing left to remind of the beautiful young man he had been, only minutes before. He was nothing short of a monster now.

‘So!’ Voldemort said, pleased. ‘I think we fixed that arrogance, didn’t we?’

‘You certainly did, My Lord!’ Pettigrew piped, all excited and slimy. ‘You certainly did!’

Voldemort snapped his fingers. ‘Amycus, a collar!’

Carrow came scurrying forward, the device in his hand.

Voldemort took it from him and spoke: ‘Well, Zabini, as you seem so very fond of servants, I’ll grant you the honour of becoming one yourself. If someone will have you, that is. Otherwise, you may join the others in the cage and prepare to be hunted down.’

Blaise didn’t react. He just stood there, hanging his head, making his soft, wet sounds. Sobs, probably, since they were coming from that strange orifice that was now his mouth.

Voldemort addressed the crowd. ‘Any takers?’

As expected, no one said a word. No one wanted a deformed slave, and certainly not one who was a daily reminder of what could happen to you if you displeased Voldemort. 

‘I fear every family already has a servant, My Lord,’ Amycus offered. ‘The auction is over.’

‘Oh yes, quite right,’ Voldemort smiled. ‘How silly of me. Well, I guess it’s off to the Hunt with you then, Zabini.’ He beamed at Blaise. ‘To be fair, we’ll give you more of a head-start than the others. Those unequal limbs will be a bit hard to figure out at first.’

Bellatrix laughed, high-pitched and insane.

‘I’ll take him,’ a soft voice spoke.

They all turned to see Daphne, who had taken a brave, yet trembling step forward. ‘I’ll take him,’ she repeated, a little louder.

‘Your family has already chosen, my dear,’ Voldemort replied.

‘I’m… I’m moving out,’ she stated, clearly inventing this on the spot. ‘I’m going to live on my own from now on. So… so I’ll need someone, for myself.’

Draco felt his heart break. Poor Daphne. After everything Blaise had put her through, she would still risk it all for him. She really, truly loved that prat.

‘All right then,’ Voldemort shrugged. ‘He’s yours.’

Daphne accepted the collar and placed it around Blaise’s neck. He averted his face, unable to bear her sad look, nor his own ugliness, reflected in her eyes. Limping, he followed her off the stage. The days of Blaise Zabini’s famous binges had come to an end.

But there was still one loose end to tie, of course.

‘My Lord,’ Amycus asked. ‘What of the girl?’

Voldemort turned to Parvati. She had been standing a little to the side of the podium, all but forgotten. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, her eyes wide from witnessing what had happened to Blaise. But her head was still high, and unlike Blaise, she didn’t stoop or beg or plead. She had gambled, and she had lost, and she was prepared to face the consequences. 

‘Ah, yes, Miss Patil.’ Voldemort ambled over to her, and she jutted her chin even higher, almost defiantly. But what he said next, took her by surprise. ‘So. You wish to become one of us, then, do you?’

She weathered his look, instinctively feeling she needed to, like one would stare down a bear or a tiger or something that was on the brink of attack, and then nodded, clear and curt.

Voldemort awarded her with a half-grin. ‘Now, I hope you won’t think badly of me for what I did to your amour. You see, Zabini simply had to be punished,’ he explained, his tone conversational. ‘As one of us, he should have known better than to allow himself to be played like that. But I do applaud your cunning. Truly, it’s not very often I come across one with your powers of manipulation. I mean, the boy just offered himself up for you, without even realising.’ He laughed a little at that. Then he narrowed his eyes and continued: ‘I would be a fool if I were to let such talents go to waste, without even making you a half-decent offer.’

Parvati wet her lips. ‘I would be honoured to join, My Lord.’

‘How nice,’ Voldemort oozed. ‘Well, yes, you would be, wouldn’t you? And you are very welcome, my dear. Truly, you are. Only, there is one thing you must realise.’ He put an arm around her shoulder and she suppressed a shudder as he walked her to the edge of the platform, facing the crowd. ‘You see all these people?’

Parvati swallowed, then nodded.

‘All of them, every last one, has had to make sacrifices to be here. Why, some of them are still making them now!’ Again, he grinned.

‘I’m prepared to make sacrifices, My Lord,’ Parvati assured him.

‘Wonderful!’ Voldemort released her and walked back to his throne. For a moment, Parvati stood there, alone, unsure what would happen next. The crowd held its breath.

‘Amycus,’ Voldemort waved. ‘Would you kindly ask the _other_ Miss Patil to step forward, please?’

Carrow nodded like a soldier. ‘Of course, My Lord.’ He ran to the edge of the podium, and yelled: ‘The Dark Lord requests the presence of Miss Padma Patil!’

Parvati froze.

A movement went through the crowd. People shifted, and a little cluster of wizards came into focus. A family: mom, dad and two drowsy-looking kids. Draco didn’t know them, but one look was enough to see they had only been using Padma as a nanny. She looked well-cared for, maybe even loved. She was carrying the smallest kid, a little boy, on her hip. He had gone from drowsy to fully asleep, his thumb in his mouth. What on earth had possessed these people to bring their children to an event like this was beyond Draco. The kids had clearly been doused with the same spell Theo had put Bill under, or an equivalent, so they wouldn’t grasp or even notice what was going on, but still. 

_Maybe they refused to stay at home without Padma,_ he considered.

Bringing your servant was mandatory, and the children were obviously crazy about her. When Padma handed the little one over to his mother, the girl, a bit older, asked in a dazed voice: ‘Mommy, where’s Padma going?’

‘Shhht!!’ the mother hissed, eyes white with terror.

But she and her husband looked equally miserable when Padma left them and stepped forward towards the podium.

‘Ah,’ Voldemort smiled. ‘There she is. Well, well, the likeness is striking!’

All blood seemed to have drained from Parvati’s face, as she stood staring down at her sister. ‘Padma!!!’ she breathed, her voice shaking with emotion. She pulled up her shoulders and clutched her hands over her mouth.

And there you had it.

Draco had known all along. 

Parvati never loved Blaise. She might have thought she had, might have fooled herself into it, to cope, to _survive,_ but her expression in this moment spoke volumes. Sure, she had watched Blaise’s mutilation with horror, but it shrunk to nothing in comparison to the feelings she was displaying now. One look at her sister, and her mask had been ripped clean off. Face to face with Padma, Parvati remembered herself; the person she truly was. 

Her fear evaporated, and a white-hot anger took its place.

She turned to Voldemort, fuming. ‘What will you do to her?’ 

‘I was planning to throw her to the wolves,’ he answered lazily. ‘Give them something to play with, before the Hunt starts in earnest.’

Immediately, Greyback’s posse yelped with excitement, pushing up closer to the podium.

‘Never!’ Parvati screamed, indignant.

‘Well, I’m sorry, but you wanted to become one of us, didn’t you?’ Voldemort spoke. ‘You said you wanted to make sacrifices.’

‘Not this. Never _this!’_

‘Too late, I’m afraid. The price must be paid.’ He grinned. ‘Unless…’

Parvati took a step forward. ‘Yes?’

‘You could take her place. After all, _she_ never asked for any of this.’

Parvati turned to her sister. They looked at each other, and Draco had never seen two people speak so affectionately, without uttering a single word. There was silent pleading, and there was love, so pure it was hard to watch, like staring into the sun. And then, finally, there was goodbye. 

Parvati faced Voldemort, slowly. She raised her chin and spoke, loud and without hesitation: ‘Take me, then.’

‘Filthy Gryffindor!’ Bellatrix spat, pushing back into and up her chair, like she was afraid to catch some highly infectious disease.

But Voldemort had clearly expected this. He made a bored gesture to the Carrows, who took Parvati by the upper-arms and hauled her off the podium. Fenrir and his pack were already awaiting her, snarling and snapping at each other, like dogs frantic for their dinner.

What happened next was one of the most shame-inducing moments Draco had ever witnessed. 

Cringing, he watched as Parvati was thrown in amidst the pack. She had lost her shoes, her feet slipping underneath her on the wet grass, but she didn’t fall. She couldn’t. There were too many hands on her, too many claws pushing and pulling her in every direction, keeping her up in a strange equilibrium. In seconds, her beautiful dress was torn off, the seams splitting with a quiet, disappointing ripping sound. They clutched at her collar too, but only Blaise had the power to remove that, so it etched into her skin, ever deeper, as they fought to mount her, and went at each other’s throats over the right to go first. 

Finally, some sort of instinctive understanding was reached. She was bent over, still on her feet, four or five of them holding her arms and upper body, and then the rape commenced. One werewolf after the other climbed her from behind and spilled his seed in her, while the rest licked and bit her where they could. Her gorgeous skin was flayed, claws dragging deep red furrows along her breasts and flanks. Her neck was gnawed, her nipples, and the soft, ample flesh on her buttocks in a completele orgy of violence and carnality.

And while all of this was happening, Parvati didn’t utter so much as a single peep. 

Draco had seen many great dark wizards in his day, blubbering and whining like little kids as they were led to their doom by Voldemort. But never had he seen such bravery as in this young girl, not even twenty years old. She knew she was being murdered. This was her execution. The wolves were raping her to death. She was shaking like a reed, but she took it, and took it and took it, and then she took it some more, her jaw clenched. She was straining of course, her breathing a deep and troubled grunting, but no wail or cry left her lips, no scream of pain or plea for mercy. What Draco had mistakenly interpreted for arrogance in Parvati’s demeanor, was actually a deeply ingrained feeling of self-worth and pride. No wonder Blaise had called her his princess. She was positively regal. Even now, during this, she somehow managed to hold on to her dignity.

He had never been so ashamed in his life.

_Why is no one doing anything,_ he thought. _Why are they all letting this happen? Why does nobody stop this?!!_

The reason was Blaise of course. The reason was just plain common sense. But still, Draco couldn’t help feeling an intense disgust as he took in the watching crowd. Some of them were looking on with glee, openly enjoying every moment, while others displayed a well-restrained horror. As always, that duality. 

A sudden, violent urge to see the whole gathering go up in flames rose within him. He didn’t know who he despised more: the perverts and maniacs, or the others, the passive ones, the cowards.

_Coward!_

Hermione’s voice, echoing through his mind.

He looked at the wolves again. At the back of the pack, Fenrir stood waiting. Contrary to what Draco had expected, he hadn’t claimed the first turn. Instead, he overlooked his gang making merry, enjoying vicariously, and Draco realised he was saving her for last; he wanted to be the one to finish her off. One of the only moments Parvati did flinch back in horror, was when that man moved forward to trail a crooked claw along her cheek. The monster who had murdered her best friend, would be her executioner as well. 

But it would take a while before they got to that part. Yes, a very long while.

They could go on like this for hours. 

_She’ll have to suffer for hours…_

A lonely, empty sort of regret settled in Draco’s stomach. That night at Blaise’s, when he saw Luna being raped, being _used_ like she was an object instead of a person, he had gotten a small hint of what rape actually felt like, and it had shocked him beyond words. He had been aware there was a good chance he would come across similar scenes today, but now it was actually happening, he knew he had underestimated the extent of his trauma. 

He couldn’t watch this. 

He just couldn’t. 

He didn’t care what would happen to him, but this had to stop. And for the first time, a glimpse of what Hermione had meant, back there in the kitchens, got through to him.

_Some things are worth dying for…_

Draco glanced to the side. Voldemort was watching the gang rape with a mild, somewhat disinterested pleasure. Like his mind was elsewhere already. Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek and considered his chances. He had lied to the Dark Lord before, many times, even, although never without it being prompted by a question first. And in his experience, it was best to stay as close to the truth as possible.

There was nothing he could do to save Parvati’s life. She would die here today, whether he spoke up or not. But he could put an end to her suffering.

Draco closed his mind, then casually leant sideways, towards Voldemort. He knew he was playing with his life, but there was nothing for it. All he could hope, was that his performance would do the trick. Slumped in his chair, one elbow on the armrest, he uttered the words quietly, like a piece of private advice, to take or to leave.

‘My Lord,’ he spoke. ‘The girl is making fools out of us.’

Voldemort looked at him. Draco didn’t flinch. Kept the look of cool detachment steady in his eyes.

The Dark Lord frowned, then turned to Parvati again, seemed to really consider her for a moment. Her strength under distress, her courage under fire. She outshone everyone there.

Draco’s muscles were wound tight, like the spring on a mouse-trap, as he waited for Voldemort’s reaction.

‘You’re right,’ Voldemort finally said. He gave Draco an appreciative look. ‘I like the way you think, Draco.’

Relief washed over him.

But it was too soon.

For Voldemort continued, with a benign nod: ‘Go ahead. Do it, then.’

The world seemed to stop. Everything slowed to a halt.

_Do it, then._

An abyss opened in his body, a deep, bottomless pit that sucked out his stomach. He hadn’t counted on this. He hadn’t counted on the fact _he_ might be the one asked to carry it out. Still, his body didn’t falter as he stood up and strolled to the edge of the podium. All of his movements were fluent and supple, when he got out his wand and raised it. 

Parvati seemed to feel it. She looked up at him, her body shaking under the thrusts of her rapists. And in her eyes, he saw she understood.

_Please, Draco,_ she asked, just like she had that night at Blaise’s. _Please…_

He had been requested to perform this spell once before. He had failed miserably. Too young and inexperienced. Too _cowardly._ But much had happened between then and now. Failing wasn’t an option anymore, for many, many reasons. This time, there was no room for hesitation. 

The words rolled of his lips like material things, heavy and tasting of iron. He spoke softly, but steadily, and the spell thundered out over the field. A sickly green energy shot from his heart then, burning its way up to his shoulder and through his arm, until finally leaving his wand in one long, blinding blast.

The Killing Curse struck Parvati like a ton of bricks. She was dead before she hit the ground. Fenrir roared, angry at his stolen prize, but the other wolves went berserk at this new eruption of violence, tearing her to pieces between them.

Behind him, Draco heard Bellatrix jump from her seat. With a triumphant scream, she raised her wand straight up into the air, and produced the Dark Mark. ‘First blood!’ she howled, as the skull loomed above the field, its jaw dropping like it was going to swallow them all up.

What that followed seemed to happen in a dream. The slaves were released, and went sprinting into the woods. The guests prepared themselves, relieved they had made it through the intro and were now finally being allowed to get down to business. They chatted among each other, nipping their champagne and snagging up a last-minute canapé or salmon toast, before strolling over to their brooms. The prey was given an ample head-start, of course. Otherwise, what would be the fun in that?

Somehow — he had no idea much time had passed — Draco reached his broom. Then, again an indeterminable amount of time later, he was in the woods with the others, flying. Little groups split off from the main one at each junction, and it wasn’t long until he had the opportunity to let himself fall behind. It was easier than he had planned. Everyone was invested in the Hunt. No one was paying attention to him. He had spilt the first blood, made the first kill; he was beyond suspicion.

When he was finally alone and out of sight, he dismounted, his legs like jelly underneath him. Blindly, he staggered through the shrubs for a couple of paces; he didn’t know why. To walk it off, to find a quiet spot to collapse? By a tall oak, near the edge of the woods, he stopped and leant his hand, still carrying his wand, against the coarse bark. He breathed hard, as he stood and waited for the vomit to reach his lips.

He had never taken a human life before. Killing Parvati had been an act of mercy, but it sure didn’t feel that way. She had been a person; _real._ She had been strong and warm and alive. He had been inside of her, once, had felt the generosity of her mouth, her skin against his. And now she was cold and grey and dead. And it was his wand, that had made her so.

He doubled over and squeezed his eyes shut, ready to hurl.

His senses peaked. The smell of the rotten leaves on the forest floor made his head spin, and green dots flashed against his closed eyelids on the rhythm of his heartbeat.

He retched, once, twice, but all he produced was spit. 

No vomit.

It wasn’t coming.

Sweating, Draco opened his eyes again. He saw his wand, clutched between the tree and his hand. It looked different. Darker, now it had killed, like the wood had been hardened in the fire.

And deep inside of him, Draco felt he was different too. Like _he_ had been hardened by fire as well. 

Slowly, he straightened. All around him, at different spots in the forest, green flashes were flaring up above the trees. Killing, more killing. He turned away from it, disgusted. Between the branches in front of him, he could just make out the Manor. Grey and lonely and unforgiving like a prison, it stood there, the place he had spent his childhood. He thought of Hermione. She was in there, somewhere. The sole survivor of the Golden Trio — the sole _female_ survivor of the Golden Trio — trapped in a house full of Death Eaters. And he realised he was the only thing standing between her and them. The only one who could protect her. And he would, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Had she seen him kill Parvati?

Probably.

This morning, she had told him she hated him, and if that hadn’t been true yet then it sure would be now, after he had single-handedly executed one of her friends. It was of no importance, though. She could hate him all she liked. He would protect her, even if she never spoke another word to him. He would protect her whether she loved him or hated him or anything in between. 

_I need to pull myself together. I need to get a grip._

For her.

Yes, always for her.

_Everything,_ for her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments, it really means a lot.  
> And once again thanks for your patience while I tried to find the time to finish this chapter.  
> Next one shouldn't take this long...  
> xx

_How did I get here?_

That was the question Draco asked himself, again and again, during that seemingly endless winter day. It wasn’t inspired by self-pity. Just a rational, almost philosophical query. Which decisions had led him here, to this exact point in time? Which twisted junctions in life? What awful, doomed fate? 

Five years ago, if he had been given a glimpse of himself as he was now, what could he have done differently? 

He looked around the room. Night had fallen, and he was sitting in the salon, the roaring fire in the hearth the only source of light. Voldemort, Pettigrew and Bellatrix were sitting in the chairs around him, their servants at their beck-and-call. Other Death Eaters had been present, too, initially. But they had all slinked away at one point or another, in pursuit of their own entertainment. Draco had no idea where his own parents had gotten off to. The rule of chaos had taken over the Manor.

He felt strange. Numb. Like his emotions weren’t getting through anymore. He hadn’t touched a drop of liquor all evening, yet his mind was on another plane entirely. He could almost see himself sitting there, as if watching the scene from above, his body slumped in the chair, his face a mask of light and shadow in the firelight. Completely detached from himself.

_The portrait of a killer._

But then they were all killers, here…

The Hunt had gone on until late in the afternoon, and when the daylight started to fade the last unwanted slaves had been rounded up by wand-light, and finished off. As expected, no one had come even close to making it out alive. They had all been slaughtered.

Everyone agreed the event had been a great success.

After the hunting party had freshened up, the feast had continued inside the Manor. Drinks first, then dinner. One exquisite course after the other was served at the long table set up in the dining hall, but it all tasted like cardboard to Draco. It was the smell. That awful, sickening smell of burning human flesh coming in through the windows. Narcissa didn’t allow dogs into the house, and that included halfbreeds too, so Fenrir and his wolves were having their own private party outside on the lawn. 

And to them, dinner meant something else entirely. 

After the Hunt, the house-elves had been ordered to clean up the woods, so they had gathered the bodies of the fallen and piled them up in front of the house. This mountain of twisted, naked corpses, had then been set alight. The wolves were getting their meat cooked for them, tonight.

No, Draco hadn’t enjoyed his dinner at all. 

It wasn’t that he had felt sick. He just felt cut off from everything, dried out, sort of. Like he was slowly fading, his heart a dark, dead mass in his chest.

As the evening progressed, things inside had begun getting less and less cohesive too. The majority of the guests had been aching to let loose, high on food and drink and killing. The air was heavy with it. Soon —as early as they could without being considered suspect or impolite— all the somewhat decent people had started heading home, and Draco remembered how jealous he had felt, when Theo had come to say his goodbyes. How he had envied his friend then, for the simple privilege of being able to leave this place. To just get into the fireplace and go. He couldn’t go anywhere. Not anytime soon. This was his home. He was forced to ride this thing out till the bitter end.

‘Hang in there, buddy,’ Theo had whispered, as they shook hands. His other hand had been on Draco’s shoulder, squeezing, and Draco had rested his forehead against Theo’s, just for a second.

After that, he had been alone again.

But not without company.

Voldemort, picking up on the atmosphere in the dining hall, had decided to retreat to the salon with a couple of his closest confidants, for coffee and brandy. The day had gone well, there was nothing more to prove or to put to the test. His followers needed to unwind now, and he knew they’d never be able to fully do that in his presence. So he drew back, allowing the main feast to run its due course. And to unwind a little himself, no doubt.

 _How did I get here?_ Draco asked himself again, as he sat in his big chair in the salon, Voldemort and Pettigrew in their own chairs on either side, Bellatrix across from them.

He glanced at his aunt, on the other side of the fireplace. She was sitting in a high-backed green armchair, feeding Neville little pieces of coffee-drenched biscuit. He sat kneeling between her legs, and she was mumbling little words to him, their faces so close it was like watching a pair of lovers. A very deranged pair of lovers, but still. She giggled softly, almost girlishly from time to time, and Neville was clearly getting more aroused by the minute. His mistress watched as he chewed the last piece of biscuit, bit her lip, then raised her leg and pricked the high heel of her boot deep in his thigh. He grunted at the feel of the pain, sharp and burning, and a shudder of pleasure went through his body. He sent her a grateful, pleading look. Draco didn’t know if Neville was capable of forming words anymore, after all that he had suffered. But his face made it pretty clear what he wanted.

_More._

_Please, Mistress, more._

Bellatrix’ black eyes gleamed in the firelight. Draco recognised lust there, too. But his aunt seemed to have difficulties with actual intimacy. Her chest heaved, as if she was battling with herself, before she slowly, hesitantly, stuck out her tongue. Neville leant forward even further now, his whole body, his whole face overcome with the enormity of this privilege that was being bestowed on him, for the very first time. But when he meant to touch her tongue with his, Bellatrix suddenly jerked back and slapped him across the face with her riding crop. He jerked sideways, then squirmed on the ground for a few seconds, his hands over his face, cringing in pain and relishing it at the same time. His lust only increased further. It was clearly visible underneath his loin-cloth.

‘Don’t you ever dare touch me!’ she hissed. ‘You’re unworthy! Remember that!’

He looked up at her, an angry red stripe across his face, and she stared back with her black eyes ablaze, and it was clear they craved each other with a ferocity beyond words. No, she couldn’t handle real intimacy. She couldn’t handle being touched affectionately, could barely handle touching affectionately herself. Pain and suffering was the language in which Bellatrix Lestrange expressed herself.

Her gaze trailed over Neville’s muscular body, the way his abs moved as he breathed, his sweaty, scarred skin shining in the light of the flames. That animal-like quality he possessed these days. Then his cock, long and hard under his loin cloth. Her hand was upon him now, the fingers running along his chest and stomach, nails clawing fine lines. He didn’t take his eyes off hers. His mouth was open, lips slightly parted. Her willing victim, her obedient slave, her malleable piece of flesh and muscle and bone.

_Take me, Mistress, let me take you…_

But she couldn’t, of course. She was too deranged.

‘My Lord!’ she whispered, without moving a muscle, only her eyes shifting to Voldemort, who sat in the chair across from her. ‘My Lord, may I make a request?’ Her voice sounded stifled, choked.

Voldemort gestured she could. 

Her face split into a grin. ‘Can we have the slaves mate again, my Lord?’

Immediately, Ginny, who had been sitting at Voldemort’s feet, turned to her master, one hand on his knee, her expression just as eager as Bellatrix’. 

Voldemort took a deep breath, like this was all very inconveniencing, and the two women craned their necks, their muscles tensing with expectation. ‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘What do you think, Peter?’

‘I think it’s a great idea, my Lord.’ Pettigrew had Seamus Finnegan in his lap, and he was caressing the boy’s hair with slow, admiring strokes. ‘Just what we need, right now, I reckon.’ He gave Seamus an oily smile.

‘Draco?’ Voldemort inquired.

‘I don’t care either way, my Lord,’ Draco heard himself answer, as if from very far away. 

Did he? 

He was so far gone he didn’t even know anymore. He just felt so tired.

Voldemort sighed again, like a much troubled but benevolent father. ‘Well then. I guess the majority has decided.’

Bellatrix squealed with joy. Ginny kept silent, but her face portrayed the exact same emotion.

She had turned into such a shrewd, sly little number, Draco considered. It was almost interesting from a purely magical perspective to see the extent of the influence Voldemort’s personality‘d had on hers. In a way, she was still like her old self: a quiet, loyal force in the background. But the direction of that force had been changed radically from supporting Harry Potter to cheering all the things Voldemort stood for. She all but worshipped the ground he walked on. She was the perfect evil little sidekick. A hybrid, between the zeal of the Gryffindor and the cunning of the Slytherin. Draco couldn’t help but wonder how Hermione would have fared if she’d been taken by Voldemort instead. Somehow, he refused to believe she’d be in the same state Ginny was in now. 

Hermione was never that quiet. Intelligent, yes. Strong, too. And stubborn! But never quiet.

Never obedient.

_Even with the collar, she never really obeyed me._

She might have done what he asked her to, because she had no other choice, but there was always that flicker of rebelliousness there.

In a way, when you thought about it, he had adapted much more to her, than the other way around.

Suddenly, a violent pang of yearning coursed through Draco’s body, slicing straight through the apathy, simply from thinking about her. He hadn’t seen her since the Hunt. She’d taken his words to heart and stayed up in her room. Locked herself in, he hoped. And as expected, no one had minded. Everyone was far too busy playing with their own toys… 

An empty feeling poured into him. He knew he’d never feel her again. Never be allowed close to her anymore. That she’d never again take his hand in hers or casually lie in his bed. He had humiliated her, he had showed her he was capable of killing, and thereby he had removed himself from her for all eternity. 

Some things were simply beyond forgiveness.

A new waft of the human barbecue outside reached him. In the dining room, the sound of shattering glass, followed by roaring laughter. Other sounds too. A scream.

Had life ever resembled hell this close?

‘Strip,’ Bellatrix said, her riding crop underneath Neville’s chin. He obeyed her without blinking. To Draco’s surprise, Neville’s reproductive organs had escaped the havoc Bellatrix had wreaked on the rest of his body. No scarring, no burn marks or piercings, he was unscathed down there. His cock gleamed big and pink and wet, softly bobbing up and down for sheer want of her. He tried to push up closer, lean into her again, but she swatted him away, waving her long-nailed finger in front of his face. ‘No, no. Look over there, my pet. Mummy’s got a treat for you!’

Neville turned his head and saw Ginny step forward, her frail frame outlined against the fire. He looked at his mistress again, hopeful.

‘Yes, you can have her,’ Bellatrix nodded. ‘Go ahead. Go and fuck her.’

Neville turned to Ginny.

They smiled at each other; lustful, evil little smiles. Neville’s energy was completely different now he was interacting with another woman than Bellatrix. The longing submission had made way for an almost beastly prowess. He stood up straight, his arms beside his body, the muscles in his shoulders tense, everything about him breathing power and agility. Ginny held his gaze, her body curving in anticipation. Two predators, circling each other. 

Neville made the first move. He grabbed her by the arm and roughly pulled her towards him. Ginny gasped, her smile widening. No kisses, no foreplay. Ginny grunted and squealed as Neville flipped her over and ripped off her dress, then unceremonially pushed her down on all fours.

In spite of himself, Draco started. Shocked, he turned to Voldemort.

‘Oh, that,’ the Dark Lord explained, when he saw Draco’s expression. ‘That’s just to keep her intact. Ginevra is of a passionate disposition, and I don’t want to take any risks. Having a virgin’s blood at the ready is such a luxury. It’s required in so many interesting spells, and I always felt it adds a little something to many potions too, wouldn’t you agree?’

Draco nodded, because that’s what you did when Voldemort asked you if you agreed. But meanwhile, his heart was pounding against his ribs. That atrocity between Ginny’s legs! He couldn’t keep his eyes off it. Her pussy had been _sewn shut._ Thick, black thread joined the lips together, the mellow flesh underneath bulging between the stitches. Seeing it was like having an itch you couldn’t scratch. He had to sit on his hands to keep from running up to her and cutting the strings loose. 

Neville seemed frustrated with the whole thing too. He pushed his cock against it several times, his hands pulling on Ginny’s hips, but it was impossible. The thread was too strong. Ginny was breathing heavily with anticipation now, becoming increasingly more desperate. She pushed her ass tighter in Neville’s lap, looking back at him, imploring him to hurry up and choose the other alternative already!

Neville finally came to the correct conclusion. He spit in his hand and moistened her, then parted her butt cheeks and thrust inside.

She screamed with joy as he pounded her ass, his balls slapping against her pussy with wet noises at each thrust. Soon, the black thread was gleaming with moisture as her cunt ached to be penetrated too. 

‘Deeper,’ Bellatrix ordered, and she whipped Neville’s ass with the riding crop, hard.

He groaned, and pushed deeper, and Ginny groaned too.

‘Deeper, still.’

Another slap, harder than the first.

‘Faster!’

The whippings followed more quickly now. Bellatrix was really letting loose, as if she wanted to punish Neville for the feelings he was arousing inside of her. His ass was slowly turning red, the buttocks showing fiery marks where the crop had cut into it. He grabbed Ginny by the hair and pulled her head back, their joined panting sounding in crescendo.

‘Do you see that?’ Pettigrew oozed. ‘How his asshole opens and closes when he’s fucking? Do you like that?’ He was rolling one of Seamus’ nipples between his thumb and index-finger, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth. ‘Hm, what nice pale, freckly skin you have, boy,’ he hissed. ‘I love it!’ He gave the nipple a lick, then started sucking it as his hand moved to Seamus’ crotch. Rookwood really had trained him well. Seamus just shut his eyes tight and forced himself to think about other things, as he let Pettigrew jerk him off.

Bellatrix stopped the whipping now, as abruptly as she had started it, and Neville uttered a long, strangled sigh, both with regret and relief alike. ‘Well done, my pet,’ she soothed, stroking him underneath his chin. He looked up at her in complete surrender, as he continued fucking Ginny with slow, nearly exhausted movements. Ginny whimpered in complaint, feeling she was almost near the climax, but needing more from him still.

‘We’re almost there,’ Bellatrix encouraged him. ‘That’s a good boy.’

She patted him on the head, then turned the whip around and pushed it up his ass. He wailed as the knot passed his sphincter, his eyes closed in ecstasy. Slowly, she started fucking him with it, and his buttocks twitched and jerked helplessly each time the leather pushed in deeper. More blood rushed to his cock, stretching Ginny’s asshole wider, her little tits bouncing on the rhythm of his fucks, until they were both breathing in hoarse, loud heaves.

It wouldn’t be long now. 

Pettigrew decided it was time, too. He whipped out his small, greasy cock, then pulled the waistband of Seamus’ pants down, shifted until Seamus was in the right position, and pushed the boy down on him. Seamus moaned quietly, his eyes still forcefully shut, as Pettigrew’s penis burrowed itself into him. His own cock, already half stiff from the hand job, rose up further under the stimulation, his body betraying him in the most awful way.

Near the fire, Bellatrix lifted her skirts, and shamelessly stuck her wand down her underpants.

Draco got up off his chair. He didn’t care if it was suspect or not. He couldn’t do this anymore. ‘Please excuse me, my Lord,’ he mumbled to Voldemort. ‘I’m going to see if I can find my parents.’ 

‘Ah yes,’ Voldemort smiled, almost meekly. ‘Boring, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I understand. I don’t care for any of this stuff either. But we have to throw the rabble a bone now and again, don’t we?’

It wasn’t clear if he meant Pettigrew and Bellatrix, or Ginny and Neville. Probably the lot, for they were all having an equally good time.

Except for Seamus, of course.

He wasn’t having a good time at all.

‘Although Bellatrix can be quite inspiring,’ Voldemort continued. ‘She has a whole variety of special tricks to make one’s juices flowing. A true master of pain, if ever there was one.’ His cold eyes flashed at Draco, seemingly piercing right through him. ‘Are you inspired, Draco?’

Draco didn’t know what to answer to that. 

‘Are you planning to seek out Miss Granger, perhaps?’ he ventured, with a chilling smile. ‘You prefer some time alone with her, hm? From what I hear, you’re not the type for sharing, now are you?’

Draco looked into that snake-like face, but he didn’t feel fear. He didn’t feel anything anymore.

‘My Lord,’ he whispered, ‘I must confess: you read my mind.’

 

*

 

Voldemort thought he was a sadist. And a secretive, possessive one at that. He had scored yet another point with the Dark Lord…

 _He thinks he’s got me figured out. That’s the only reason I’ve made it this far._

The only reason he had survived for as long as he had. 

And killing Parvati of course. That had bought him some credibility too…

Draco clenched his jaw. He had been hard when he left the salon. Not because he was aroused. Disgust was too weak a word to describe his feelings. But he couldn’t deny the strange, brooding energy that was building in his chest. A raw, primal sort of lust, that had nothing to do with logic or personal preferences, but was a purely physical reaction to being exposed to so much sexual perversion.

And it was everywhere. The whole Manor reeked of it.

Voldemort had been right. All the normal people had left hours ago, and without the ever dangerous presence of their fickle master and overlord, the remainder of the guests had now completely let loose. It was utter mayhem. They had spread to the corridors and some of the other rooms too, but the dining room was the worst. When Draco entered, he walked straight into the mother of all orgies, and it was in full swing too. There were naked and half naked bodies everywhere. On the floor, in the chairs, on the table. Some guests were eating, some were drinking, some were torturing, but all of them were fucking or watching someone getting fucked. And it sure as hell weren’t only the men doing it. Draco saw plenty of women there too, watching, participating, laughing.

Cho Chang was spread out on the table, topped with a variety of fruits, whipped cream and chocolate sauce, like a human ice-cream sundae. People, men and women alike, were swarming around her, eating and licking things off of her naked body. Cormac McLaggen, who had defected on the day Harry Potter died, was sucking a sliver of tangerine straight from her pussy, and she arched her back and moaned as he let his tongue play around.

Dean Thomas was doing some eating of his own, although his dinner was more of the overripe category. The old bag that was his mistress had her veiny legs parted wide, as she pushed his head deep into her grey cunt.

In the corner, Luna was giving one of her famous blow jobs to Goyle, her dress tight over her pregnant belly, while his brothers were poking their fingers in her ass and pussy, preparing to mount her from behind.

The whole place stunk of sex and blood and booze, and beneath it all lay that sickly odour, the burning meat smell that came from outside and that penetrated everything.

Draco moved through the dining hall like a sleepwalker, from one ghastly scene to the next. Still, that detachment within him. That numbness. How did he manage to be here, to breathe, to witness all of this without collapsing? Was this what happened once you had killed? Or were his true emotions just sedated from the sheer shock of taking a life, lingering underneath it all and ready to jump up at him and grab him by the throat once the daze lifted?

He wondered, as he made it out and into the main hall, a stranger to himself. That strange, brooding energy was still buzzing inside of him as he started making up the steps to the first floor.

He was so consumed by it, by his thoughts, that he didn’t see her coming.

‘Oh, there you are, Draco!’ 

Halfway up the steps, Pansy flung herself in his arms, seemingly out of nowhere, thereby spilling half of her gin and tonic over the rim of her glass and down his shirt. ‘Where have you been, baby?’ she huffed, pouting. ‘I’ve been looking for you all evening!’

Draco gave her a cold look. She was drunk. Very, very drunk. And completely hyper.

‘With Voldemort, right?’ she answered her own question. She took another sip from her glass, then nodded. ‘Of course you were. You’re really in the inner circle now, aren’t you? I was watching you, this morning. Up on the podium, right next to him.’ She breathed in, pushing her chest pointedly up against him. One of her shoulder straps had slid down her shoulder, and the nipple of her left breast was partly showing. The feeling in Draco’s chest intensified. ‘Oh, baby,’ she sighed, ‘I’m having so much fun. You really know how to throw a party! The Mud Hunt was a-ma-zing! Here, look at this!’ She lifted her hand, and showed three human ears, caked in blood, dangling from a piece of string around her wrist. ‘Would you believe it? I got three! Two mudblood witches and a blood-traitor! Cormac says I’m a natural!’

She downed the rest of the gin and threw her glass to pieces on the stairs. ‘Mmm,’ she sighed. ‘Good.’ She licked her lips and pushed up even closer, her eyes heavy-lidded with lust. ‘Say, I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe I’ve been a bit hasty where Granger was concerned. Nothing actually happened between you, did it? And if it did…’ She gave him a sultry look, from underneath her lashes. ‘Well, one has to make allowances, for men of a certain stature…’

She moved her hand down along his body, towards his crotch.

‘Oh, Draco,’ she sighed. ‘When I saw you standing there, all dark and forceful, executing that slut Parvati in cold blood. Jesus! I swear, I creamed my fucking panties!’

She bit her lip and grabbed his cock, then smiled when she noticed he was hard.

‘Well, what do you say, baby? Wanna give it another spin? I’m willing enough.’ She started rubbing him, through the fabric of his pants, with slow, determined strokes. 

Draco scoffed.

‘My God,’ he whispered, genuinely astonished. ‘I can’t believe I never saw it.’

‘What, baby?’

Draco looked into her eyes and spoke: ‘Just how ugly you really are.’

She blinked, as if she couldn’t believe what he had just said. ‘W-what?’

He yanked her hand of off him like she had a disease and pushed her away. ‘You must be one of the ugliest human beings I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Take your hunting trophies and your creamed panties, and disappear. I never want to see your hard pug-face in my house again.’

Without another word, he shoved her aside, and continued climbing the steps.

‘Draco. Where… where are you going? Are you going to _her?! Is that it?_ Draco!!!’ 

She called after him, but he ignored her hysterics.

He ignored everything.

Thankfully, there were no more people in the corridor on the first floor. But there was a soft buzz of noise, coming from a room halfway. Draco knew that room. And he knew what he would find there, too. The smell of cigars wafted towards him as he approached. The door was open just a crack. He didn’t _need_ to look. But he did, anyway.

Draco pushed the door of his father’s study open a little further. Just enough to see what he had suspected all along.

Goyle senior was there. And Crabbe, too. Then you had Crane, and doctor Von Krinkelstein, and a couple of others from the club. And smack in the middle sat the great Lucius Malfoy, with Fleur Delacour riding in his lap. She was the shining focal point, her naked skin pale as if bathed in moonlight, her hair silvery in the bluish haze of the cigars. She had her head in her neck, her eyes closed and mouth open in silent panting, as Lucius’ cock mercilessly thrust in and out of her. His hands were on her hips, squeezing, pushing and pulling, laying down the rhythm like he always laid down the line everywhere else. The other men were touching her too. And themselves.

Draco wondered if Bill could feel it. The sting of his wife’s humiliation, every time one of those monsters pushed himself deep inside of her.

He turned away. He didn’t feel anything. It was like all of his organs had been removed and he was left completely hollow inside. The wind rattling and echoing against his ribs.

So there you had it. His father, the man he had looked up to his entire life, just a filthy rapist like all the others. 

He had known of course. 

He had always known. 

He suspected his mother even knew. She had probably made herself scarce well before running the risk of witnessing it. 

Draco understood.

There was a big difference between knowing something, and actually seeing it.

He walked on. His feet carrying him to another staircase, and another one. Higher and higher up the Manor. For there was only one place where he wanted to be right now. One person he wanted to see. That he could _stand_ being around. That he could face, even if it was red-faced.

 

*

 

The door was unlocked. She had been expecting him.

Still, when he entered, she started a little.

She was sitting on the narrow, wrought-iron bed, a book in her lap. After all he had witnessed today, it was such a simple, comforting sight. A girl reading a book, a cup of tea on the nightstand next to her. Like everything was normal in the world.

Only it wasn’t, of course.

She knew that too. In fact, she hadn’t been reading at all. Just leafing through the pages, in a futile effort to put her mind on other things. She had witnessed almost everything he had, and undergone much more. Her face was tense as she watched him enter. Pale.

He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. There was nothing he could possibly say to make this better; nothing that would excuse him. He had come out of the instinctive desire to be in her presence, but now he was here he found he could hardly bear to look at her. When she put her book aside and got up off the bed, he averted his eyes, unable to hold her gaze. 

He was breathing hard, his whole chest was shaking with it. Something was starting to take hold of him. An emotion, rising out of the chaos of his subconscious, like a brightly shining star. 

Shame, pure and merciless.

It burned inside of him, was burning a hole straight through his solar plexus. He was so ashamed. About everything he had done. About everything _his kind_ had done, and was still doing, at this very moment, in this very house he had once called his home — it would never be that anymore. It couldn’t, after all that had happened here today. 

He heard Hermione approach him, the step of her bare feet soft but determined on the wooden floor. How she had to hate him. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the extent of it. To her, he stood for everything that was wrong with the world, for all she and her loved ones had suffered. He must have been out of his mind, thinking they could ever have been friends, let alone something more than that…

She halted right in front of him, and he raised his eyes to hers. Hers were glowing, burning with some strange passion. Was this what it looked like, pure hatred? It was so beautiful, though. This time, Draco didn’t avert his gaze. Whatever she had planned for him, he’d take it like a man. He could feel she was on the brink of hitting him. A slap from her would sting him in the depths of his very soul. The humiliation of it, of having her, the one he cared for so much, reject him so completely. But it was all right. After all, he deserved it. Hell, he _wanted_ her to. Someone needed to punish him for his sins.

‘Close the door,’ she spoke.

He got out his wand and shut the door behind him.

‘Now lock it.’

He obeyed.

‘Shut out the noises.’

He did that too, his wand creating a bubble of silence that pushed the muffled screams and wails from downstairs out of the boundaries of the room.

‘And the smell. That awful smell,’ she continued.

‘I don’t know how to do that,’ he admitted.

‘Give me your wand.’

He handed it to her without a moment’s hesitation, and she spoke a spell he had never heard before. Then the smell too, was gone. The world outside had been shut out. They were alone, she had his wand, she could do all she wanted to him now. 

He bowed his head, as he waited for her to strike.

Hermione took a step forward, and put her arms around Draco’s neck.

A shock passed through his body. He searched her eyes, rattled and confused, but she just pushed her body against his and held him, and suddenly, all the emotions he had been suppressing during the day threatened to come out in one big, unbearable gush. 

Draco put his hands against her shoulders and sharply pushed her off him.

Immediately, Hermione came back and held him again.

He pushed her away a second time, more forcefully, and she had to take a couple of steps back to keep her balance. But she simply returned anew, and put her arms around him, undeterred.

Draco stood motionless under her embrace now, his body rigid as a statue, muscles tense, hands clenched into fists. Helpless. It was like he couldn’t breathe anymore, his whole being trembling from the inside out. He closed his eyes, fighting it every step of the way. 

But she was too strong. 

Slowly, haltingly, Draco lowered his head onto Hermione’s shoulder. His fists unclenched, his hands moving up her back as he closed his arms around her and surrendered to her embrace. A twitch went through him, then another one. Three or four dry, strangled sobs wrenched themselves to the surface. 

‘Everything you felt, Draco,’ she whispered, ‘I felt it too.’

From the moment she had first come to the Manor, Draco had longed for nothing more than to comfort her, but now it was _she_ who was comforting _him._ How could she? How could she find it in herself to grant him forgiveness after everything that had happened? How could she bestow this kindness on him so freely?

‘I can feel you too,’ he answered huskily. ‘I can feel your heart.’

He took a deep breath, and then it was like his entire body exhaled. 

The gates had been opened. It was too late. He couldn’t hold back anymore. 

The first thing he became aware of was the smell of her hair as he buried his face into it. She sighed, and then he was holding her tight and hugging her and kissing her, and for a moment nothing existed anymore except for her mouth and her arms and her body against his. He tasted the salt of tears, felt her quiver underneath him as he ran his lips along the side of her mouth, her cheek, her neck. A touch of something hard, cold, now. The collar. That awful, stupid, damned thing. He released her of it and threw it to the side. She gasped, and her eyes grew big. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ he begged her. ‘Please. You’re safe. You’re safe here with me. I promise, I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.’ 

She gave him a helpless look, her eyes so big and brown and wet he thought he was going to break inside, that his heart would shatter into a million pieces. She wanted to believe him. She really did. But when he thought of the things he had done to her… Today, but also when she had first come to the Manor, and even back at Hogwarts… His transgressions towards her were a thousandfold. 

How could he show her that he wasn’t that same person anymore? That he was telling the truth? That she could _trust_ him? 

Slowly, Draco sank to his knees, bowed down and put his lips to Hermione’s feet. Her perfect, little feet. He could hear her breathe out in surprise, but it was no great sacrifice from his part. He had made her bow down to him once, and he was more than glad to return the favour. Her skin here, on the instep, was so delicate it was like touching your mouth to silk. She stood very still now, almost frozen, as he pressed kisses all along the top of her feet, slowly, deliberately, again and again. A desire, a want, deeper than anything he had ever experienced burned inside of him. No other woman had ever made him feel like this. So helpless and so hopeful at the same time.

She grabbed his shirt by the shoulder, near the collar, and he looked up at her, grimacing with a feeling he couldn’t describe. She frowned back at him, mirroring his emotion. Her chest was heaving, her face flushed, her eyes trailing over him like he was brand new and she was seeing him for the very first time. 

No words were needed. They understood each other perfectly. Deep down, they always had, even if they had been too proud and too afraid to admit that to themselves.

She pulled at his collar and he moved back up, and then they were kissing again, eagerly now, hungrily, desperately, pushing and pulling at each other in a dance, a struggle of two aching to become one.

They did away with their clothes, and moments later, she was lying underneath him, her arms around his neck, her fingers running through his hair, and it was a million times better than he had ever imagined it would be. He touched her face, his fingers softly trailing over the curve of her lips, her eyebrows, her cheekbones. He marvelled at himself, at the contrast inside of him, the contrast inside of everything. Only this morning, these hands had killed, and look at them now. Life was a mystery. Who could make sense of it?

When he entered her, she gasped and held her breath, and he realised she had never given herself to a man before. An emotion awoke inside of him, so strong it threatened to swallow him whole.

‘Hermione…’ he whispered, overcome.

He put his cheek against hers, and she exhaled, and then he buried himself inside of her, gently, but as deep as he could; buried himself away from the world. She welcomed him in with a soft moan, her tight warmth all around him, and he heard himself moan too, like a man in pain. And he was. He was dying for her. 

As he took her virginity, there in that narrow, creaking bed, he almost felt like he was losing his own, all over again. It had never been like this. Never. All that stuff in his past, that was all just fucking. 

This, though.

This was something else. 

This was what Bill and Fleur had been doing, that day at the club.

 _This is making love,_ Draco thought. _This is what it’s really like._

Hermione’s body rocked underneath him, open and warm and completely his, the soft skin on the inside of her thighs brushing against his sides at each thrust. And he knew he had been blind. All his life, he had staggered around in darkness, never knowing there existed so much light. He had seen death, lived among it, had _inflicted_ it, even, but there was life too. Still, there was life. She, her body, _this,_ was life. She was showing him the way. She pulsated with it and he pulsated along with her, soaking it in. It was so unbearably fragile, in the blink of an eye, in the uttering of a few, toxic words, it could be over. One moment here, and then gone. 

No, better this, then. Better this little, waking death they were working towards. This soft killing, so full and bursting with life.

‘Draco,’ she panted. ‘Oh, please, Draco…’

Her surrender was without compromise, and he offered himself up to her just as willingly. 

He kissed her everywhere: her face, her neck, her breasts. He worshipped every part of her, wished he could cover her completely, could reach every spot at the same time. She was so ample, so generous. There was nothing she had to give that he didn’t want. If only he could stay here, inside of her, that he could draw out this moment to last for all eternity. But he could already feel it building, that familiar feeling, so much more powerful than usual, like a tidal wave inside of him. 

She was right along with him. Their connection perfect, and almost at its completion.

He concentrated now, focused his entire being on the superhuman task of keeping his movements steady as he guided her towards the climax. 

She clutched onto him, her hands digging into his shoulders, every muscle tight, and then she was shaking and shuddering underneath him, _screaming,_ and he screamed too as he emptied himself inside of her, feeling like was pouring out his very soul into hers. 

When it was all over, they didn’t speak. Just folded into each other’s arms like two pieces of a broken thing, joined anew. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, and he knew she could feel his in her turn, as they lay together, the after-effects flowing through them like a gentle, mellow stream. 

Downstairs, everything was still going on, but they were miles above that now. She had lifted him out of hell, she had comforted him, and he had comforted her too, and their gaze was upon heaven now. Safe in their little bubble of peace.

They lay like that for a long time, silently caressing each other in the dark, with soft, slow movements. Neither of them slept. They waited, waited it out, and as morning approached, they could feel the guests starting to leave, one by one. Like a weight being lifted off their chests.

Finally, when dawn was nearly upon them and the Manor was empty again, Hermione moved her body onto his, and they made love a second time. He let her do all she wanted, watching her as she grinded in his lap, her hands on his chest, her eyes closed with concentration while she discovered all the different feelings, experimented with the angle of her hips, her control over the variety in pace and depth and intensity. And when she was done and he had filled her up all over again, they returned to their embrace and fell fast asleep, secure in the knowledge that, for a few stolen moments, they had managed to stop the world outside, and create their own.


	17. Chapter 17

He was dreaming. Something about a tree, and a snake. A white snake with yellow eyes.

‘Could you?’ he asked, breathless. ‘Could you really?’

Hermione brushed her cheek against the snake’s, slowly, gently. Her eyes were pools of burning ember. 

‘Maybe,’ she answered. ‘If you told me…’

‘If I told you what?’

He tried to remember. He had been here before, in this field, underneath this tree. He was sure of it. He had heard her say those words before, too. That question. The all-overpowering desire to answer and thereby fulfill its request, fulfill himself. It was all just at the edge of his consciousness, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

An ominous sound in the distance. Crashing thunder. A chill rolled over the field now, making the leaves of the tree rustle. The sun disappeared, and Hermione’s eyes turned sad, like a shadow had fallen over them too. ‘Tell me, Draco,’ she implored him. ‘Please. Before it’s too late.’

The thunder rolled again. Louder now. The storm was approaching them at an impossible speed. 

‘Tell you what?’ He had to shout to be heard above the wind. 

‘Please,’ she repeated. ‘Before it’s too late!’

He was getting desperate, and so was she.

‘Hermione…’ He tried to reach for her, but she recoiled, holding the snake to her chest. The branches of the tree were swooping, lashing at them in the wind.

The storm was almost above them now. Great thunderclaps reverberated through his body, ripping it apart, ripping _them_ apart.

‘Hurry, Draco!’ Hermione gasped. ‘They’re almost here. Quickly!!!’

Draco awoke with a terrible start, as the door to the attic room was violently busted open. Hermione lay spooning in his lap, her naked body covered in sweat from the nightmare they had both shared. She was facing the door, completely exposed to the intruders. In a reflex, Draco pulled her further into him, his arms across her chest, instinctively trying to protect her; to shield her. But he couldn’t shield her from what was coming their way now…

His mother, father, and ex-girlfriend stood in the attic room, their faces all showing different levels of shock and disgust. 

‘See?!’ Pansy whimpered, pointing at him and Hermione with a trembling finger, her voice going crescendo, on the brink of breaking. ‘ _See?!_ I _told_ you. And it isn’t just fucking. He—‘ Her breath caught. _‘He’s in love with he-e-e-e-e-er!!!’_ She turned away and burst into tears against Narcissa cold, rigid shoulder.

Slowly, under his parent’s unforgiving gaze, Draco pulled the sheets up around him and Hermione a bit better. Hermione was lying stiff as a board in his embrace, mortified. She had pressed her face half into the mattress, her arms tightly crossed in front of her underneath his, like she could make all this go away if she just refused to confront it.

Lucius strode forward like a figure on a chess board. His colourless eyes were spitting fire, the skin high up his cheekbones an angry pink. ‘Get dressed,’ he hissed, grabbing Draco’s clothes from the floor and tossing them at him. ‘I’ll expect you in my study in half an hour!’

Without another word, he turned on his heel and went, the two women in his wake, a slash of his wand slamming the door behind them so forcefully it bounced back on its hinges.

Draco felt a cold, heavy feeling sink to his stomach. He touched Hermione’s hair in an attempt to comfort her, but she curled up even further, refusing to look at him. 

She knew it too. 

Their moment together was over.

The world had forced its way back in.

*

How could he have been so careless? He should never have allowed himself to fall asleep. It was so unlike him. He hadn’t even thought of lifting the sound-barrier he had put on the room, nor of putting a warning spell on the attic stairs to alarm them in case anyone came up. Instead, he had let himself get carried away by the events of last night, by all those emotions that were so novel to him. Yes, he had been more than happy to lose himself in that feeling of complete, almost desperate bliss. Hermione had tried to warn him, in their dream. Her subconscious had sensed the danger before he had. Still, she hadn’t had the presence of mind to think about taking precautions either. She had been swept away just like he had. Draco couldn’t help but draw comfort from that, however small. Whatever they had shared last night, she had felt it too.

‘Come,’ Lucius said, as Draco knocked on the door of his father’s study.

A bitter feeling accompanied him, as he went inside. The place still vaguely stank of cigars. How could he not be reminded of what he had seen here, last night?

Lucius was already waiting for him behind his desk. Narcissa was there too, but she was on the other side, sitting next to the empty chair that was intended for him.

‘Sit,’ Lucius ordered sternly.

Draco walked to the chair and took place next to his mother.

For a few moments, not a word was spoken.

‘Well?’ his father finally began, his voice thick with barely controlled anger. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

Draco snorted. The situation was completely absurd. What power did that man still have over him? 

‘You refuse to speak?’ Lucius continued, outraged. ‘You refuse to answer me, your own father, when asked a question?’

‘I have nothing to say,’ Draco replied.

Lucius’ face grew pink again. ‘We find you in the bed of that… that _creature,_ and you have no comments to make? You should be grovelling at our feet, boy, begging our forgiveness! Have you no shame? No heart, at all? See there, your poor mother can barely look at you anymore!’ He pointed at Narcissa, who sat silent and pale, her eyes averted in embarrassment.

Draco scoffed. ‘Yes, she’s good at that, isn’t she? Closing her eyes to certain things.’

Lucius jumped out of his chair, furious. ‘How dare you?! Apologise to your mother, right away!’

But Draco looked him boldly in the face, and said: ‘I’m not the one who should be apologising to her for my behaviour of last night, now am I, _Father?’_

The slap was sharp and hard and completely unexpected, and he gasped, his head jerking to the side.

‘Lucius!’ Narcissa started, moving half up off her seat.

But Lucius was beside himself. ‘Insolent brat!’ he spat, a couple of stray strands of platinum hair in his face. ‘You feel like a big man because you just fucked a girl? Some girl! A _mudblood!_ Out of all the women you could’ve chosen.’ His voice dropped to an incredulous hiss. ‘How could you have sunken _so low?_ ’

Draco’s face stung with the pain and humiliation of getting slapped, but he bit back a wry smile, and said: ‘It could’ve been worse. She could’ve been a muggle.’

Lucius took out his wand and reached across the desk again, seeing red, but Narcissa stood up and blocked his way. ‘Lucius, _please!’_

‘No, Narcissa! You’ve spoilt him long enough. All his life, you’ve been far too lenient with him, and now look where we’re at. Well, it ends here! This time, he’s gone too far. He’s going to feel this, mark my words!’ He raised his chin and spoke: ‘Now step aside, wife.’

Narcissa stood there for a moment longer, battling her husband with her gaze. But she knew that in the end, she couldn’t win. Shrunken, she yielded and retreated back to her chair. 

_‘Sit down!’_ Lucius boomed to Draco, who had jumped up too, his chair fallen back in the process. And suddenly, the old fear took the upper hand. That inherent, frightened awe Draco had always harboured for his father, ever since he was a little boy. Lucius had lost a lot of his former shine, first during his stint in Azkaban, and later with his behavior during the war and this subsequent reign of Voldemort’s, but he was still Draco’s father, and he was still a formidable dark wizard when he wanted to be. The tone of his voice was enough to make Draco remember that, and this time, he found he couldn’t hold his father’s gaze any longer. He gritted his teeth and obeyed, in spite of himself. 

When he was sitting down again, Lucius took place as well, slowly, without taking his eyes off Draco. 

‘So, I guess this is all a joke to you, then,’ he began. ‘You clearly think it’s very funny, ruining our lives. I hate to disappoint you, son, but you can forget it. I’m not going back to those days before the war, when we were out of grace. I’m not risking everything we have built —that we have _re-built_ — here, just because you have some strange obsession for mudbloods!’

‘I do not have an obs—’

‘Shut up! Shut your damn mouth!’ Lucius put his elbow on the desk and pointed at Draco. ‘You’ve taken an insane risk, doing what you have, and with all of them in the house too! It’s enough for me to almost doubt your intelligence! That friend of yours, Zabini, you’ve seen what happened to him. Do you want to end up like that? Hm? Do you want us, your mother and me, to end up like that?’

Draco clenched his jaw and looked away.

‘Zabini’s mother has been ordered to return from Italy post haste. His entire family is under investigation! All their assets have been frozen, and the first orders for arrest are going out as we speak. Can you picture your mother in Azkaban? Can you, boy?’

Draco glanced at Narcissa. Her fragile beauty, her pallor, her bloodless, icy contempt.

‘She’d never make it out alive,’ Lucius stated the obvious. ‘And I would sooner kill myself than to return to that place. Is that what you want for us, son?’ 

‘No, of course not,’ Draco mumbled.

‘Then I would advise you to think about such things next time you get the urge to live out one of your unhealthy inclinations!’

Draco pressed his lips together. The injustice of it all churned in his chest. Absolutely nothing about what he had done with Hermione last night was unhealthy. On the contrary, he had never felt more truly like himself when he was in her arms. How unfair, that the world should be so askew.

Still, it was obvious that a discussion on the values of love and morality would get him nowhere here. It was high time to take the practical way out. So he lifted his chin and lied: ‘Fine. I promise I’ll contain myself in future.’

Lucius scoffed. ‘Yes, you bloody well will! I’m going to make damn sure of it.’

Draco frowned, an uneasy feeling awakening inhis chest. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Look,’ Lucius said, steepling his hands, both elbows on the polished surface of his desk. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going down to the drawing room now, to see Pansy–‘

‘Pansy?!’ Draco spat. ‘What the hell is she still doing here, the little rat?’

 _‘—to see Pansy,’_ his father repeated, deliberately stressing the words, ‘and make up with her.’

‘You must be joking. If I never see that bitch again in my life it’ll be too soon!’

‘You should be very grateful Pansy is still interested in you,’ Lucius continued. ‘Not many other girls would be so forgiving. Why do you think she waited until the feast was over and everyone had left, before coming to us? She could have just as well exposed you when the Dark Lord was still here, and then we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. It’s clear she still hopes that things between you two will work out. So you’ll _make_ them work out, if you know what’s good for you.’

‘Oh, so now I’m supposed to be happy about being blackmailed into a relationship, is that it? Stay with Pansy or she’ll go and blab to Voldemort and we’ll all be murdered or maimed or put in Azkaban? Where do you see that going, Father? Me at the altar with my arm twisted behind my back?’

‘You liked Pansy well enough before that mudblood came into our house, so don’t pretend it’s such a terrible sacrifice!’

‘Pansy’s perfect for you, darling,’ Narcissa added. ‘You two were always such a beautiful couple. Give her some time, and she’ll soon make you forget all about Granger. Then things can go back to normal, and you can be happy again. We can _all_ be happy again.’

Draco was dumbfounded. How could his own parents, the people who had brought him into this world, know him so badly? Or was it that he had changed so much that they didn’t understand him anymore?

No, the differences between them had always been there. Hermione had just helped bring them to the surface.

‘What are you doing?’ Draco frowned, wary, as he saw his father take a quill and start scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. ‘What is that?

‘This,’ Lucius announced, ‘is a letter to Goyle. Last night he reminded me, once again, that his son is very interested in your precious mudblood. Luckily for him, he is at liberty to take such risks with his children. It seems Gregory’s taste is as bad as yours, but at least he won’t be naive enough to fall in love with the creature. Anyway, they’ve offered to trade her in for Lovegood, and I’ve decided to accept.’

‘What?!’ Draco jumped from his seat, panic rising to his throat. ‘Father, you can’t do this!’

‘I can and I will.’ Lucius signed the document and folded it.

‘But… but she’s pregnant!’

‘Who? Hermione?’ Narcissa started.

‘No, Mother,’ he reassured her. ‘Luna is.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Lucius answered. ‘A good trade if you ask me: two purebloods for the price of one troublesome mudblood.’ He snapped his fingers, and his owl came flying in through the window, ready to pick up the letter and carry it to the Goyles.

‘You’ve given her the potion then?’ Narcissa insisted, still freaked out about the possibility Hermione might be pregnant too. ‘This morning? You know you only have twenty four hours, right? You’ve been careful?’

‘Father, _please!’_ Draco begged.

Lucius looked him coldly in the eye as he held the letter up between his index and middle finger. ‘It’s this, or death. I could always take her out back and put her down, if you prefer. She’s your servant, it’s up to you.’

Draco couldn’t believe it. Desperate, he turned to his mother. But Narcissa shook her head. ‘Sorry, my darling. You know I would do anything for you. But not if it’s at the cost of your own safety. The situation is just too dangerous. I’d die if anything happened to you…’

A pang passed through Draco’s body. Yes, he understood that feeling all too well… ‘It’s all right, Mother,’ he whispered. ‘I understand. And I am sorry, about everything.’ 

He turned to his father again, the inevitability of what was coming now hanging over him like a cloud. The days of running to his Mummy were over. Hermione was his responsibility. He had to solve this himself. He had to finally decide what kind of man he wanted to be.

‘I’m not letting you do this,’ he whispered. ‘I mean it, Father. I’ll fight you over this if I have to.’ And in a last, previously inconceivable act of defiance, he took out his wand.

Lucius scoffed, a mocking smile around his lips, but his eyes were ablaze with indignation.

On the other side of the desk, Draco’s wand trembled slightly in his fist, but he pointed it to his father’s chest none the less. ‘Well?’ he insisted, jerking his chin. ‘What will it be, old man?’

‘Whelp!’ Lucius hissed. He narrowed his eyes, fury overtaking him. ‘Don’t come crying later, you’ve brought this on yourself! _Imperio!’_

And before Draco could so much as blink, his father’s spell struck him right in the heart.

Narcissa clutched a hand over her mouth and turned her head, unable to watch. ‘Oh, Lucius…’ she whispered, with a sob. ‘Will he ever be able to forgive us?’

‘I regret this too,’ her husband spoke. ‘But it’s for his own good. Only for a little while, until that girl is safely away with the Goyles and he’s forgotten all about her. And if that’s not enough, I’ll clear his memory of her myself.’

‘No! No, that I refuse.’ Narcissa got up and approached her husband. ‘It’s too dangerous. Memory spells are fickle. He might lose his mind.’ She took his hand, and pressed it to her cheek. ‘Please, Lucius.’

He sighed. ‘All right then. I doubt he’ll still be interested in her after she’s spent a couple of weeks with the Goyles anyway. By then, she’ll be very much their creature, if you know what I mean.’

‘Yes,’ Narcissa said icily, her eyebrows raised in contempt.

Lucius turned to his son. ‘Now then, Draco,’ he spoke. ‘Go to the drawing room and make up with Pansy, like I told you.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘And don’t worry about Granger. She’s no concern of yours anymore. I’ve ordered Kreepy to put her in the dungeons for the time being, so you won’t run into her. You can take Pansy to your room or wherever you need to get things right between you two again. Just make sure you’re back when the Goyles get here. I’ve asked them to meet us here in two hours’ time, and I need you to do the handover with the collar and such.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Well, go on then.’

Draco turned and walked out of the study. Outwardly, he couldn’t have been more calm, but inside his body, there was a fierce battle going on. The cool, soothing fingers of his father’s curse had penetrated his mind, and were trying to massage away all his worries. With all his might, Draco attempted to ward them off. To force them out again. For as alluring as piece of mind might be, there were things he desperately needed to keep worrying about. Things whose importance it was vital to remember. At the moment, the battle was stuck in a deadlock. His own will and that of the curse had sunk their teeth deep in one another’s necks, neither one yielding, neither one overcoming. The situation was dire. One little lapse of strength, and Draco knew he would be overrun completely. He walked along the corridor, tiny beads of sweat covering his brow. He was going the wrong way, to the staircase. He needed to go in the other direction, up to the attic again.

_No, she’s in the dungeons. He told me she’s in the dungeons now._

He gulped in air as for a moment, his father’s order of going to the drawing room and his own desire to seek out Hermione coincided in the action of going downstairs. Relief flowed into him. Oh, that feeling, that peace, that calm that came with obeying…

At the bottom of the stairs, Draco turned right and crossed the hall, then knocked at the door of the drawing room. He frowned as he heard footsteps coming his way. No, this was wrong. How had he gotten here, all of a sudden? He had been meaning to do something else, hadn’t he?

‘Draco…’ Pansy spoke with a sob, as she opened the door. She flung her arms around him, and the soothing fingers in his brain redoubled their efforts. He was supposed to do something now, with this woman. A wry feeling churned through his stomach as he heard himself whisper: ‘I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry about what I did.’

An explosion inside him now, almost orgasm-like. Yes, the fingers spelled out on his brain. Yes, yes, yes!

‘Oh, Draco!’ Pansy repeated, looking up at him with huge, wet eyes; her little nose wrinkling as she sniffled. ‘Do you _really_ mean that?’

‘I do,’ he replied. ‘Please, Pansy, will you forgive me?’

Again, a hit of something almost too pleasurable to express.

A smile broke through Pansy’s tears. ‘Of course I do! How could I not? Poor baby. After all, it’s not really your fault.’ She narrowed her eyes, her viciousness returning. ‘It’s _Granger_. That filthy mudblood had her clutches deep in you. She _poisoned_ you against me. Women can be so evil sometimes. Look at Blaise and Parvati! But luckily for you, it’s not too late. Luckily for you, for _us,_ I caught you just in time to bring you back to your senses…’ 

After her initial blowing-up about the mere possibility of him having a thing for Hermione, and the subsequent harsh discovery that he hadn’t come running after her during her cold-shoulder treatment but had instead flung himself into Hermione’s arms in earnest, Pansy now seemed one hundred percent determined to close her eyes to the situation. Funny, how people always chose to believe what was most convenient to them…

These thoughts crossed Draco’s mind, as Pansy leant in and put her mouth over his. Her warm, wet tongue pushed itself eagerly into his throat, and he felt like he was being torn apart. His nerve endings exploded with the satisfaction of complying to his father’s order, while at the same time, a feeling like a balled fist punched him in the gut. Granger. _Hermione._ She was in the dungeons. He had been with her last night, but now she would go to Goyle. What did that mean to him? It had meant something to him, before the curse struck him, he was sure of it…

Pansy was still kissing him like she wanted to devour him. She pulled him onto the couch with her, and Draco felt joyful and broken and contented and itching with some unknown want, all at the same time.

‘Shall we go to your room?’ Pansy whispered, coming up for air.

Draco frowned. ‘I don’t know.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Are you feeling all right? You look pale.’

‘I need to…’

_…go down to the dungeons._

‘…go outside,’ he spoke. ‘I’m tired. I need some air.’

‘Of course. A bit of fresh air will do you good. It’s been a trying time for us all.’

‘Yes, it has.’

‘Shall I come with you?’ she offered.

‘Things are well between us now, aren’t they?’ he asked. ‘We’re a couple again?’

Pansy blinked, her face lighting up at this unexpected and unequivocal labeling of their relationship. ‘Yes, yes, we are!’ she smiled.

‘Okay then.’ He had obeyed his father’s wish. Draco rose from the couch.

‘Shall I come with you?’ Pansy asked again, preparing to get up as well.

‘No, you stay there and rest a little, my dear. You’ve had a lot to deal with as well. I’m just going for a short stroll. Clear my head, before the Goyles get here.’ He was surprised how reasonable that sounded, when all he really wanted to do was scream his lungs out.

‘All right then,’ Pansy nodded, appeased.

Draco left the room and walked into the entrance hall. The corridor to the kitchens was the one he had to take if he wanted to descend further down to the cellar and then to the dungeons. 

Why did he want to go to the dungeons again?

_To see Hermione._

Hermione…

Draco stood in the middle of the hall, paralysed. Desperate, he tried to cling to the image of her face, to the sounds she had made last night, underneath him, to the feel of her skin. But it was slipping away. He could feel it slipping from his clenched hands. He was breathing hard, like he had just run a marathon, sweat beading both his brow and upper lip now. On the other side, the cool, calm lake of the curse beckoned. The dousing of his fear, his worry, his torment…

Resisting was getting harder by the minute. 

_To the dungeons._

But why?

_Hermione will be sent to Goyle._

And why is that bad?

_I don’t know. I don’t know..._

“Granger doesn’t concern you anymore, Draco.”

The voice of his father —and master— rang through his head.

With a cry of pain, Draco managed to break out of his inertia. He didn’t go for the dungeons, he couldn’t. He just wasn’t strong enough. But he wasn’t going back to Pansy either. She’d only confuse him further, bring his inner conflict to a head. He had to get out of here. Out of this cursed place. Remove himself from this tearing and ripping, before he was cut to shreds!

Cold air struck him in the face as he stepped outside, cutting off his breath for a minute. The temperature had dropped again during the night, and the rain had made way for a cold, drizzling snow again. The grass and shrubs were already dusted with it. As Draco passed around the back of the house, he noticed a big, black patch on the drenched grass, where the wolves’d had their bonfire last night. It was the only trace left of the feast. The House-Elves had done a good job cleaning up; the podium, the cage, the canopy and all the rest had been done away with, as had the bodies of the victims.

But not that black scorch mark. That would be visible for weeks to come…

Suddenly, an overwhelming desire to start digging, to crouch down into those ashes and claw up the heavy soil from underneath, overtook him. An image of himself, digging a grave for Parvati. Yes, that would be fitting, that he should be the one. Or maybe him and Blaise, the both of them having played such vital parts in her demise.

_Me and Blaise in the mud and the ashes, digging Parvati’s grave with our bare hands…_

That’s what he should have been doing, last night, instead of bedding Hermione and thereby sealing the fate of yet another girl. He swallowed and frowned, his thoughts becoming increasingly more incoherent.

_Who will dig Hermione’s grave? Will it be me, too? Or have I done so already?_

He turned away from the scorch mark, dizzy with the curse and with his own thoughts, both hanging like a millstone around his neck. 

He made for the woods.

Terrible things had happened here yesterday, but there wasn’t a trace left as Draco walked along the snowy pathways. Nature had a way of cleansing things —as had House-Elves. The forest seemed to welcome him back with open arms, and he remembered how he had walked here with Hermione, that day when she had first taken his hand. A little pinprick of the original feeling bubbled up through the oil-film of the curse. Yes, he remembered how that had felt. 

Suddenly, a moment of perfect lucidity. And with it, that pressing fear again. He needed to find a solution. To find a way to save her from the claws of Goyle and his family!

At the mentioning of that cursed name, immediately, a violent urge to glance at his watch. His father had ordered him to be back within two hours, when the Goyles would come by to make the exchange. 

Draco grunted as he looked at his pocket watch. 

So little time.

Not nearly enough to come up with even a half-decent solution.

He racked his brain, but thinking was so hard, with the spell trying to foil him at every twist and turn, slapping his wrist each time he landed on the right track, then trying to pull him in the exact opposite direction. He got distracted, couldn’t focus, started talking in himself as he wound his way ever deeper into the forest.

He cursed himself. Why hadn’t he tried to devise a way of escaping before? Why had he waited so long to open up to Hermione? He should have consulted her, gotten her in on the plan. She was so smart! Together, they could surely have come up with something. But he had hidden from his feelings for too long, in a desperate, and futile attempt to protect them both. And now it was too late.

God, he had wasted so much time…

 _I have to find a solution,_ he repeated stubbornly, his mind caught in a thick fog. _I_ will _find a solution._

He reached a clearing in the woods.

And then it was like the world shattered into a million pieces.

Under a tall, bare oak tree, lay the deer. It was the same one he had seen on his walk with Hermione, he was sure of it. A beautiful young doe. 

She was dead. 

Callously killed by one of the hunters, yesterday, just for the fun of it. 

Draco stood and watched as her broken body lay at his feet; the big brown eyes, once so warm and alive, now dull and dead, a fine layer of snow covering her soft fur, like she was already fading into the surroundings. 

And he knew. 

This one image of innocence, crushed, finally made the truth sink in. 

All was lost. 

Draco sank to his knees, buried his face in his hands, and cried. Really cried, this time. Slow, quiet, helpless sobs that seemed to come from deep within. He cried for every fucked up thing that had ever happened in his whole damn fucked up life, and for every future fucked up thing that was about to come. 

And as he did, the Imperius curse rolled over him, and immersed him completely.

The feeling of calm bliss that usually accompanied it was gone, though. The sight of the deer had made him shed that like an old snakeskin. It didn’t make the curse any less effective. He was still bound to it hands and feet, and this time, it was with the added twist of the full realisation of what he was doing. Ironically, the mist in his head was the only part of the curse that he had managed to overcome. Draco was now fully aware of all his actions, and of the fact he couldn’t do a single thing to stop them. 

The torture was complete. 

He’d always considered the Imperius Curse the weakest one out of the three, paling in comparison to the morbid glamour of the rest. How wrong he had been. There was a finesse to Imperius that neither of the other two Unforgivable Curses possessed. A sly, creeping, insupportable sort of itching, that made you feel sick about yourself from the inside out, and that almost had him wishing his father had gone for Cruciatus instead.

‘Will he ever be able to forgive us?’ Narcissa had asked her husband, back there in the study.

 _No, Mother,_ Draco thought, as he wiped his face clean and then touched the flank of the deer, gently, almost religiously, as if it could still feel him. _I’ll never forgive either of you for this._

He felt a compulsory twinge. Unable to disobey, he looked at his pocket watch again.

It was time.

He needed to start heading back.

*

‘There you are!’ Pansy came running up to him, all smiles. ‘We started wondering where you were, darling.’ She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss, then brushed the snow from his hair in a girlfriend-boyfriend kind of way, giggling. ‘You look all ruffled! Come, warm up a little.’

She dragged him to the fireplace, where his parents, Goyle, and Goyle senior already stood waiting.

‘Finally come to your senses, then?’ Goyle grinned, shaking Draco’s hand.

Draco felt his face produce a grin. ‘Indeed,’ his mouth said, while his hands itched to clutch themselves around Goyles fat neck, and not let go anymore until he had crushed the life right out of him.

‘I knew you would.’ Goyle slapped Draco on the back. ‘You won’t be sorry. Luna’s a good sport. Aren’t you, doll?’

Luna, who had been staring at the gargoyles in the stonework above the fireplace, clad in hot pink latex, turned and asked dreamily: ‘Greg? Weren’t we here just yesterday?’

‘We were, love.’

‘Why have we come back? Is there another party?’

‘No, love. You’re going to stay with Draco and his parents from now on.’

‘Oh. All right then.’

‘Come on, time to say goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, Greg.’ She gave him a peck on the lips.

Goyle gave her an affectionate slap on the ass and nodded to his father. ‘Now Dad.’

‘Goodbye, Dad.’ She gave Goyle senior a kiss too. Then Gregory took her collar off, and sent her over to stand by Draco and his parents.

‘I’ll take that,’ Lucius said, grabbing Luna’s collar before Goyle could hand it to Draco. ‘It’s better if the power lies with the head of the family.’

‘Actually,’ Goyle senior remarked, ‘I think it’s a splendid learning opportunity. My boy has really risen to the challenge.’

‘Yes,’ said Lucius, ‘mine too.’ And he added, inwardly: ‘A little too well.’ Firmly, he clicked the collar shut around Luna’s neck.

‘Take care of her, mate,’ Goyle said to Draco, with a suggestive wink. ‘But then I know you will.’ He grinned widely. ‘You’ll not forget to invite me over from time to time, right?’ 

Pansy shot Goyle a withering look, then put her arm around Draco’s shoulder in a possessive sort of way, brushing her lips against his ear in an even more possessive way.

‘I need to sit down,’ Draco heard himself say.

‘Of course, darling.’ 

He sat down on the couch, but she sat down with him and kept right on fidgeting at him. Goose-bumps crawled over his flesh wherever she touched him. The fire in the hearth seemed to scorch him, and at the same time her hands were like ice on his skin. He was coming down with something. A fever. He was trembling all over. Could no one see him trembling?

Behind him, he heard his mother whisper to his father: ‘She looks adequate, I suppose. But we’ll have to do something about that chest. The size of it is just ludicrous! We can’t have her around civilized company like that.’

Lucius nodded, eyeing Luna over critically. ‘A small reduction wouldn’t be too risky. It’s always easier when they’ve already been tampered with. But maybe it’s not even necessary. Lord knows a change in wardrobe would make a world of difference too.’

Goyle cleared his throat, eager. ‘Well, where’s Granger then?’

‘Our senior House-Elf is just getting her now,’ Lucius informed everyone.

A moment later, the door to the drawing room opened, and they all turned.

There she was, flanked by Kreepy.

She looked smaller, shrunken. Her eyes sought Draco’s, the fire throwing shadows in the brown of her irises. Her face, watching it was like suicide to him…

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. He was forced to sit and watch helplessly, as she was brought forward.

The sound of a coffin closing over his head resounded within him.

So there. This was it. His futile attempt of escaping the harsh reality of his life had failed. 

And suddenly, Draco saw his entire, somber future stretching out before him.

He’d probably marry that awful, hard-faced Pansy. They’d have children together. One or two, or whatever the amount she preferred. They’d have his hair and eyes, and her hard face, and they’d be as much of a disappointment to him as he was to his own father. He’d take a mistress of course, to escape from all the blandness. A last, useless, cliché act of defiance. Some high-class witch, the wife of one of his friends, or his new slave girl, or both, and it’d all be insufferable.

But that would be nothing _—nothing—_ compared to what lay in store for Hermione.

Yes, all the while, the only woman he had ever truly cared for, would be pounded by that swine he had once called his friend. Goyle, his moronic little brothers and that brute of a father of his, they would all fuck her, humiliate her, _hurt_ her. Goyle’d probably impregnate her too. Knocking up Luna was done out of carelessness, but Draco knew Goyle well. He had seen the way he had reacted to the suggestion Luna’s baby might not be his. Yes, that oaf had really taken to the concept. It probably made him feel like a man, planting his seed in defenseless girls, forcing them to carry his offspring against their will.

And the worst of it was that Goyle actually _liked_ Luna. The way he spoke of her clearly showed it. God only knew what he would do to Hermione, a girl he’d always considered prissy and righteous. Who he’d hated, because she was strong and independent and smart, and his subconscious sensed she was miles above him, light years out of his league…

Draco flinched, a twitch passing across his face. The idea of Hermione’s belly swollen with Goyle’s child was unbearable. It was insufferable. _Intolerable._

Slowly, he became aware of the fact that every single fiber in his body was trembling now. His whole being seemed to oscillate with only thought, one word, clear and sharp and blinding as the edge of knife.

‘Well,’ Lucius said. ‘Here she is. Come and take her collar off, Draco, and hand it to Greg.’

Goyle grinned wolfishly at his new plaything.

Draco’s muscles tensed. He balled his fists, focused all the strength he had left inside of him on that one word.

_NO._

Time seemed to grind to a halt, as he moved up off the couch and forward towards Hermione, slowly, but at the same time with the ferocity of a tiger pouncing on its prey. 

She looked up at him, with those brown eyes of hers.

Doe-eyes. 

He had no plan.

No great idea, to save her.

But he was more than prepared to jump out of an open window with her.

With a short, deep grunt, he broke through the curse.

Pansy spotted the change within him first, even before Lucius did. Her black eyes grew big as she guessed his intentions.

‘Oh, no you d—‘

She grabbed onto his shirt just as he took Hermione’s wrist, and then the three of them disapparated.


End file.
